IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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23  WEST  MAIN  'iTfceET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  1458G 

(716)  872-4503 


Fl> 


4^ 


Q.r 


(/a 


CIHM/ICMH 
Microfiche 


CIHIVI/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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0 


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The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  -^  (meaning  "CON- 
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Queen's  University 

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premiAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impresslon  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derniire  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
derniire  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ^signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  y  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuven^  dtre 
fiimds  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  I'angle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m6thode. 


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WISE  SAWS: 


OB, 


SAM  SLICK  m  SEARCH  OF  A  WIFE. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 


"SAM   SLICK'S   SAYINGS   AND    DOINGS," 

"SAM  SLICK  IN  ENGLAND,"   "SAM  SLICK'S  NATURE  AND  HUMAN  NATURE." 


"Quicquid  agunt  homines,  votum,  timor,  ira,  voluptas 
Gaudia."    ....    Juv. 

"  The  proper  study  of  mankmd  ia  man." — Pope. 


NEW  YORK  : 

DICK    AND    FITZGERALD, 

No.  18    ANN   STREET. 


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CONTENTS. 

INTRODUCTORY   LETTER     Page  13 

CHAPTER  I. 

CHAT   WITH    THE    PRESIDENT  20 

CHAPTER  II. 

STEALING   A    SPEECH     80 

CHAPTER  III. 

EVERY    THING    IN    GENERAL,    AND    NOTHING    IN    PARTI- 
CULAR     87 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  BLACK  HAWK;  OR,  LIFE  IN  A  FORE  AND  AFTER 48      •   ' 

^'-  '■    '■   ■'■■■ 

CHAPTER  V.  '   %  4   ti' 

OLD   BLOT^HARD     t>0 

.    (ix)  .       » 


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\  '  I     ^'      ■ 

X  ""^  *         CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VI. 
TiiE  widow's  son  , 67 

I 

CHAPTER  VII. 

niE  LANGUAGE  OF  MACKEREL  74 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   BEST   NATUHED    MAN    IN    THE   WORLD  80 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   BAIT    BOX ' fc8 

\ 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE   water-glass;    OR,    A    DAY-DREAM    OP   LIFE   93 

CHAPTER  XL 

OLD    SARSAPARILLA    PILLS    100 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  HOUSE  THAT  HOPE  BUILT 110 

CHAPTER  XIII.  ;  ^ 

THE  HOUSE  WITHOUT  HOPE  120 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

AN  OLD  FRIEND  WITH  A  NEW  FACE 132 

*vr    ■■\±_i^,-    ',  ,.J- 


,      "  r.  f     I  ■;<■'•  •■      .' 

■      I  «,  '     '  **. 

.^     I*-  ■* 

I*  II 

CONTENTS.        '  ^      i  ki 

CHAPTER  XV.  ..  .   "* 

CHAT   IN   A   CALxM  140 

CHAPTER' XVI. 

THE   SABLE   ISLAND   GHOST 147 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   WITCH   OF   ESKISOONY 158 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

FERICHO  BEYOND  JORDAN  174 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

THREE   TRUTHS   FOR   ONE   LIE  ^ 188 

J*  • .: « 

CHAPTER  XX.  ''''- 

AUNT  THANKFUL   AND   HER   ROOM  203 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

A   SINGLE   IDEA ., 213 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

AN  EXTENSIVE  PLAN  OP  REFORM  223 

CHAPTER  XXIII.              ,    ,  ^      :# 
aOOSE  VAN  DAM 229 

,:■'  'Mi'  W     .  -aLv'!'  '"^        -aft-  'i 


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♦  .     xii  '^  "  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

'  ,^       A   HOT   DAY  241 

CIIArTER  XXV. 

OUR   COLONIES   AND   SAILORS  251 

CHAPTER  XXVI.  ^     ' 

A   PIC-NICK    AT    LA    IIAIVE    263 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A  NARROW   ESCAPE 2H> 


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INTRODUCTORY  LETTER. 


S- 


Slickvilie,  April,  186-. 
My  Dear  Squire, 

Since  I  parted  with  you  I  haye  led  a  sort  of  wanderin',  ramblin' 
life,  browsin'  here  to-day,  and  there  to-morrow,  ainusin'  myself 
arter  my  old  way,  studyin*  human  natur',  gettin'  a  wrinkle  on  the 
horn  myself  for  some  that  I  give  others,  and  doin'  a  little  bit  of 
business  by  the  way  to  pay  charges,  and  cover  the  ribs  of  my  bank 
book ;  not  to  say  that  I  need  it  much  either,  for  habit  has  more  to 
do  with  business  now  with  me  than  necessity.  The  hread  of  idle- 
ness in  a  gineral  way  is  apt  to  be  stale,  and  sometimes  I  consait  it 
is  a  little  grain  sour. 

Latterly  I  have  been  pretty  much  to  Slickvilie,  having  bought  the 
old  hum  stead  from  father's  heirs,  and  added  to  it  considerable  in 
buildin's  and  land,  and  begin  to  think  sometimes  of  ma^ryin^  The 
fact  is,  it  aint  easy  to  settle  down  arter  ilineratin'  all  over  the  world 
BO  many  years  as  I  have  done  without  a  petticoat  critter  of  owe's 
own  for  company ;  but  before  I  ventur'  on  that  partnership  co'  ^n 
I  must  make  another  tour  in  the  provinces,  for  atween  you  an^  me, 
I  reckon  they  raise  handsomer  and  stronger  ladies  than  we  c'o  in 
Connecticut,  although  we  do  crack  for  everlastin'  about  beatin'  all 
the  world  in  our  "  geese,  galls,  and  onions." 

Oh  dear,  when  I  think  of  them  trips  I  had  with  you.  Squire,  it 
makes  me  feel  kind  of  good  all  over ;  but  there  will  be  amusement 
enough  left  for  another  tour,  you  may  depend.  Fun  has  no  limits. 
It  is  like  the  human  race  and  face  j  there  is  a  family  likeness  among 
all  the  species,  ))Mt  thoy  all  differ.  New  combinations  produce  new 
varieties.  Humour  puts  me  in  mind  of  the  kaleidoscope,  or  pattern- 
makers' box ;  give  it  a  shake  up,  and  there  is  a  new  figure  every 
time  —  that  is,  if  the  box  aint  empty.  If  it  is,  you  can  neither 
shake  anything  in  or  out  of  it,  as  many  a  schoolmaster  knows  to  hia 
cost.  But  a  man  who  has  an  eye  for  fun  sees  it  in  everythin'— 
verily,  even  the  demure  Quaker  catches  and  enjoys  it. 

The  worst  of  it  is,  it  is  hard  to  remember  it  long ;  for  the  mind 
IS  like  a  slate  —  one  thing  gets  rub'd  out  for  another.  The  only  way 
is  to  enter  it  down  at  the  foot  of  the  day's  work ;  so  I  guess  I  '11 
keep  a  journal,  and  send  it  to  you.  It  would  make  a  new  book  for 
you,  such  as  "  Wise  Saws  and  Modern  Instances,"  or  *'  Sam  Slick 
in  Search  of  a  Wife,"  or  some  such  name. 

2  (13)      - 


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14 


INTRODUCTORY    LETTER 


"i?i:*' 


* 


There  is  a  work  called  "  The  Ilorsj,"  and  another  called  "  The 
Cow,"  and  "  The  Dog,"  and  so  on ;  why  should  n't  there  bo  one 
on  *'  The  Galls  V  They  aro  about  the  most  difficult  to  choose  and 
to  manage  of  any  created  critter,  and  yet  there  aint  any  dependable 
directions  about  pickin'  and  choosia*  of  them.  L  it  any  wonder 
then  so  many  fellows  get  taken  in  when  they  go  for  to  swap  hearts 
with  them  ?  Besides,  any  one  can  lind  a  gentleman  that  keeps  a 
livcry-stablo  to  get  him  a  horse  to  order;  but  who  can  say,  "This 
is  the  gall  for  your  money  ?" 

No,  Sir,  it  is  a  business  that  must  bo  done  by  yourself,  and  no 
one  else.  I  guess  this  will  be  the  last  of  my  rambles,  and  I  hope 
to  see  you  while  I  am  spyin'  iato  the  wigwams  in  your  diggins.  1 
must  say  I  feel  kinder  lonely  here  sometimes,  tho'  I  aint  an  idle 
man  nother,  and  can  turn  my  hand  to  anythin'  amost^  but  still 
there  is  days  when  there  is  nothin'  that  just  suits  to  go  at  to  fill  up 
the  gap,  and  them's  the  times  we  want  a  friend  and  companion.  I 
have  spent  some  wet  spells  and  cvcrlastin'  long  winter  evenins  lately 
in  overhaulin'  my  papers  completin'  of  them,  and  finishin'  up  the 
reckoain'  of  many  a  pleasant,  and  some  considerable  boisterous  days 
passed  in  differei't  locations  since  we  last  parted.  I  have  an  idee 
you  would  like  to  see  them,  and  have  packed  them  all  np ;  and  if  I 
don't  meet  you,  I  guess  I'll  give  them  to  a  careful  hand  who  will 
deliver  them  safe  along  with  my  sayin's  and  doin's  on  this  trip. 

I  haven't  methodized  them  yet ;  they  are  promiscuous,  like  my 
trunk.  When  I  put  my  hand  in  for  u  stock,  in  a  general  way,  I  am 
as  like  to  pull  out  a  pair  of  stockius  as  not,  and  when  I  fish  for 
Btockins,  I  am  pretty  sure  to  haul  up  a  pocket-handkercher.  Still 
they  are  all  there,  and  they  are  just  as  well  that  way  as  any  other, 
for  there  aint  what  you  call  a  connected  thread  to  them.  Some  of 
them  that's  wrote  out  fair  was  notched  down  at  the  time,  and  others 
are  related  from  memory.  I  am  most  afeard  sometime,  tbo'  I  had'nt 
ought  to  be,  that  you  '11  think  there  is  a  bit  of  brag  here  and  there, 
and  now  and  then  a  bit  of  buncum,  and  that  some  things  are  made 
out  of  whole  cloth  altogether.  It 's  nateral  for  others  to  think  so, 
Squire ;  and  who  cares  what  the  plague  they  do  think  ?  But  you 
ought  to  know  and  be  better  sartified,  I  reckou,  than  to  git  into  a 
wrong  pew  that  w«y.  I  shouldn't  wonder  a  morsel,  if  you  publish 
them,  that  folks  will  say  my  talk  and  correspondence  with  great 
statesmen  to  England  and  sich  big  bugs,  was  the  onlikeliest  thing  in 
the  world. 

Well,  so  it  is,  but  it  is  a  nateral  truth  for  all  that.  Facts  are 
stranger  than  fiction,  for  things  happen  sometimes  that  never  entered 
into  the  mind  of  man  to  im  ^ine  or  invent.  You  know  what  my 
position  was  as  attacM  to  our  embassy  at  the  court  of  St.  James 
Victoria,  and  that  I  was  change  when  embassador  went  to  Oxford 
and  made  that  splendiferous  speech  to  the  old  dons,  to  advise  them 


h 


11 


INTRODUCTORY    LETTER. 


IS 


to  turn  Uuitarians,  and  made  a  tour  of  the  country  and  spoko  like  a 
tcn-horso  steam-engino  on  agriculture,  at  tiio  protection  dinners ;  and 
it  was  ginncrally  allowed  that  his  was  the  best  orations  on  the  sub- 
ject ever  heard,  tho*  it's  well  known  to  homo  he  couldn't  tell  a  field 
of  oats  from  a  field  of  peas,  nor  mangels  from  turnips,  if  he  was  to 
be  stoned  to  death  with  the  old  Greek  books  at  tho  college,  and 
buried  under  the  entire  heap  of  rubbish.  And  you  know  that  I  waa 
head  of  the  Legation  also,  when  he  was  absent  in  Franco  a-sowin' 
some  republican  seed,  which  don't  seem  to  suit  that  climate. 

I  told  him  afore  ho  went,  that  our  great  nation  was  the  only  place 
in  the  world  where  it  would  ripen  and  bear  fruit.  Republics,  Squire, 
like  some  apples,  thrive  only  in  certain  places.  Now,  you  can't  ent 
a  Newtown  pippin  that's  raised  in  England,  and  blue-noses  hfivo 
winter  fruit  to  Nova  Scotia  that  keeps  all  the  year  round,  that  \\c 
can't  make  nothin'  of  at  Rhode  Island.  Theory  and  practice  is  fwo 
different  things.  But  he  was  a  collegian,  and  they  know  more  aboni 
the  dead  than  the  liviu',  a  plaguy  sight ;  but  that  is  neither  hero 
nor  there. 

Well,  rank  is  no  obstacle  in  our  way,  tho*  it  would  be  in  yourn 
(for  we  claim  to  be  equal  with  the  proudest  peer  in  the  realm),  and 
then  the  book  you  published  under  my  name  did  the  rest  for  me. 
It  is  no  wonder  then  I  was  on  those  terms  of  intimacy  with  the 
uppererust  people  to  London  (and  bashfulness  rubs  off  in  America 
long  before  the  beard  comes ;  in  short,  we  aint  much  troubled  with 
it  at  no  time,  that's  a  fact).  Now,  that  will  explain  matters  to  you. 
As  for  other  people,  if  they  get  on  a  wrong  track,  they  will  find  it 
out  when  they  reach  the  cend  of  it,  and  a  night  spent  in  the  woods 
will  cool  their  consait. 

No,  I  wouldn't  sort  the  articles,  only  select  them.  Where  tho 
story  is  too  long,  clip  a  bit  ofi";  where  it  wants  point,  pass  it  over; 
but  whatever  you  do,  don't  add  to  them,  for  I  am  responsible  and 
not  you  f  and  if  I  have  got  some  praise  in  my  time,  I  have  got  my 
share  of  abuse  too,  I  can  tell  you.  Somdiow  or  another,  folks  can^t 
bear  to  hear  the  truth  when  it  just  convenes  to  their  own  case ;  hut 
when  it  hits  their  neighhours,  oh !  then  there  is  no  eend  to  their 
cheerin' ,  pattin'  you  on  the  hack  and  stuhoyin*  you  on. 

Father  was  very  fond  of  doggin'  other  folks'  cattle  out  of  his  fields, 
but  when  neighbour  Dearborn  set  his  bull-terrier  on  ourn,  the  old 
gentleman  got  quite  huflfy,  and  said  it  was  very  disrespectful.  What 
old  Colonel  Crockett  said  to  me  was  the  rail  motto  for  an  author  aa 
well  as  a  statesman :  "  First  be  sure  you  are  right,  Sam,"  said  he, 
"and  then  go  ahead  like  Statiee."  Them  that  you  don't  select  or 
approbate  put  carefully  away.  They  will  serve  to  recal  old  times  to 
my  mind,  and  I  must  say  I  like  to  think  of  the  past  sometimes. 
Travellin'  is  always  pleasant  to  me,  because  I  take  the  world  as  I 
fir'i  ir.     A  feller  who  goes  through  life  with  a  caveson  in  one  haml 


\ 


li 


n 


r 


■"S':! 


% 


16 


INTRODUCTORY    LETTER. 


and  a  plaguy  long  whalebone  whip  in  the  other,  a  halter,  breakin* 
of  every  sinner  he  meets,  gets  more  hoists  than  thanks  in  a  gineral 
way,  I  can  tell  you.  My  rule  is  'o  let  evei  ;  one  skin  his  own  foxes. 
It  aint  worth  while  to  be  ryled  if  you  can  help  it,  especially  at  things 
you  can't  alter  or  cure.  Grumblin'  and  groulin'  along  the  road, 
findin'  fault  with  this  and  scoldin'  at  that,  is  a  poor  way  to  travel. 
tt  makes  a  toil  of  a  pleasure. 

Now,  an  Englishman  goes  through  the  journey  of  life  like  a  bear 
with  a  sore  head,  as  cross  as  Old  Scratch  himself  The  roads  are 
bad,  the  bosses  bad,  the  inns  bad,  and  the  bill  extortionate.  He 
can't  eat  homemade  bread,  the  eggs  aint  poached  right,  the  ham  is 
hard,  and  he  hates  pork  as  bad  as  a  Jew.  The  veal  is  staggerin' 
bob,  and  the  mutton  rank  or  poor,  the  tea  is  nothin'  but  chopped  hay 
and  water;  cotton  sheets,  tho'  they  be  white  and  clean,  are  only  fit 
for  summer  horse-cloths ;  he  can't  stand  a  taller  candle — the  smell 
pysins  him.  A  wood-fire  puts  his  eyes  out,  roasts  one  side  of  him 
while  the  other  is  raw  and  cold.  Even  the  galls  aint  pretty;  if  they 
blush  when  he  stares  at  them,  he  sais  it  is  a  bad  sign — they  know 
too  much;  and  if  they  don't,  he  sais  they  are  forrard  and  impedentj 
but  he  goes  right  off  into  a  fit  at  seein'  me  turn  an  egg  out  into  a 
Ti'ine-ghiss.  Whfen  I  see  him  in  one  o'  them  are  tantrums,  a 
twitchin'  of  his  face  and  a  jerkin'  about  of  his  limbs  arter  that 
fashion,  like  one  possessed  by  St.  Vitus'  dance,  I  call  for  iny  horse, 
and  say  to  the  gentleman  that  keeps  the  inn,  "  Friend,"  says  I, 
"get  some  help,  and  hold  the  poor  misfortunate  stranger's  head, 
arms,  and  legs  down  so  he  can't  hurt  himself ;  clap  a  piece  of  wood 
across  his  mouth  to  keep  him  from  a-bitln'  of  his  tongue,  give  him 
a  large  dose  of  spirits  of  turpentine,  and  put  him  to  bed.  That's 
all  that  can  be  done  for  him,  for  he  is  incurable.  Good  mornin'," 
and  I  makes  tracks.  Such  a  critter  as  that  returns  home  commonly 
with  no  more  knowledge  and  manners  than  when  he  set  out.  The 
imn<jination  Juis  a  shadow  as  loell  as  the  h(xly^  that  heejys  just  a 
little  ahead  of  you,  or  follows  close  hehind  your  heels,  it  dnrCt  do  to 
let  itfrujhteii  you.  Blue-nose  is  nearly  as  bad  and  ugly  in  his  ways 
as  John  ]5ull. 

One  of  them  said  to  me  onct  down  to  Nova  Scotia : 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Slick,  aint  it  dreadful  journeyin'  here  in  the  spring. 
There  is  nothin'  but  veal,  vf  al,  veal  for  evcrlastinly  to  eat  here. — 1 
um  actilly  starved  to  death." 

Sais  I,  "Friend,  so  was  I  at  first;  I  eat  of  so  many  calves  one 
spring,  I  was  actilly  ashamed  to  look  a  cow  in  the  face  for  six 
montlis ;  but  at  last  I  found  there  was  more  ways  of  dressin'  veal 
than  one,  and  more  things  to  bo  had  to  eat  if  you  know'd  what  to 
ask  for.  Folks  always  give  n)e  the  best  they  have,  and  when  that's 
the  case  I  always  say,  them  that  ain't  content  wiili  the  best  that  can 
be  got  had  better  go  without,  for  there  i.s  no  compulsion  in  it 


■t1 


breakin' 
I  gincral 
ni  foxes, 
it  things 
he  road, 
,0  travel. 

:c  a  bear 
oads  are 
ite.  He 
e  ham  is 
taggcrin' 
jped  ha^ 
3  only  fit 
he  smell 
I  of  him 
;  if  they 
ey  know 
npedentj 
ut  into  a 
trums,  a 
rter  that 
ly  horse, 
says  I, 
's  head, 
of  wood 
ive  him 

That's 
lornin'," 
nnnonly 
It.      The 

Just  a 
I't  Jo  to 
lis  ways 


spring. 
lerc. — 1 


,'cs  one 

I  for  six 

fii'  veal 

Ivhat  to 

that's 

lat  can 

in  it 


■*v 


ii-~ 


INTRODUCTORY    LETTER. 


17 


GrumhhW  spiles  the  relish  and  hurts  the  digestion.  Tell  you  what, 
friend.  The  hee,  though  he  finds  every  rose  has  a  thorn,  comes  back 
loaded  with  honey  from  his  rambles;  and  why  shouldn't  other 
tourists  do  the  same  ?  That's  the  way  to  shorten  the  road,  lessen  the 
toil,  and  make  travelliu'  pleasant." 

"Cheap  talkin',  Mr.  Slick,"  said  he,  "but  I  aint  used  to  it;  and. 
if  I  onct  reach  my  comfortable  home,  catch  me  leavin'  it  again  for 
such  an  outlandish  place  as  this.  I  am  half-frozen  to  death  with  the 
cold." 

"  Well,"  says  I,  (for  I  knew  more  of  him  than  he  dreamed  of,) 
"it  is  cold,  that's  a  fact;  and  it's  lucky  for  you,  you  have  a  com- 
fortable home— tho'  I  have  known  many  a  man's  house  made  too 
hot  for  him  sometimes  afore  now.  For  my  part,  I'de  as  leaf  travel 
as  stay  home  with  a  scoldin'  wife,  cryin'  children,  and  a  smoky 
chimney." 

If  you'd  a  seed  the  puzeled  look  he  gave  to  my  innocent  face, 
'twould  have  done  you  good.  It  was  as  much  as  to  say  :  "  Con- 
found them  random  shots.  I  vow  you  hit  me  that  time  tho'  you 
didn't  take  aim."  Them's  the  sort  of  fellows  that  make  the  greatest 
fuss  at  hotels  always.  If  travellers  have  to  put  up  icith  a  goodeal 
sometimes,  so  have  innkeepers  too,  that's  a  fact. 

A  nigger  now  is  a  pattern  man.  He  sings  bits  of  songs,  or  plays 
on  the  Jew's-harp,  or  whistles  all  the  way,  throws  stones  at  the 
birds,  mocks  the  squirrel's  chirrupin'  out  of  fright  at  his  black  face; 
and  when  the  little  dogs  rush  out  o'  the  houses  and  bark  at  him  as 
he  passes  along,  he  stops,  bow-wows  at  them,  and  chases  them  home 
again,  and  tlion  roars  out  a  laifin'  till  the  woods  fairly  ring  with  his 
merry  yagh,  jagh,  yagh. 

At  night,  the  way  he  tucks  in  his  supper  is  a  caution  to  a  boa- 
constrictor,  for  it  would  give  him  the  dispepsy. 

Free  quarters  are  pleasant  things  for  them  who  hante  got  nothin' 
to  pay  with,  so  next  day  he  oversleeps  himself  on  purpose,  and 
instead  of  findin'  fault  with  his  accommodation,  finds  fault  with  his 
own  feet,  and  pretends  for  to  limp,  and  the  children  won't  let  him 
go.  Afore  dinner,  says  he  :  "  Missis  lend  me  the  axe,  please,  till  I 
chop  you  up  a  lovely  lot  of  fire-wood,  and  split  enough  kindlin' 
stuff  to  heat  the  "oven  for  a  voek;"  and  the  way  he  makes  chips  fly 
aint  no  matter. 

Then  he  turns  to  and  pilea  it  up  in  the  porch  snug,  and  fetches 
in  a  great  big  back-log  the  chimney-place  will  hardly  hold  —  large 
enough  almost  for  an  ox  to  pull. 

"  Missis,  let  me  draw  you  a  bucket  of  water.  Dem  are  beautiful 
little  hands  o'  yourn  is  too  soft  for  do  well-pole.  Come,  young 
masters,  sposen  you  comes  along  wid  me  and  see  Juba  carry  a  full 
bucket  on  his  hpad  and  qehber  spill  a  drop,  tho'  poor  Juba's  feei 


f 


\ 


\ 


\ 


18 


INTRODUCTORY    LETTER, 


1 1 

it 


berry  tender  now  from    travclliu'  on   dem   are   prepostilous  hard 
roads." 

I  guess  he  aiufc  asked  to  stay  another  day  and  aint  told  he  is  wel- 
come !  Oh !  of  course  not !  Then  he  has  been  a  great  traveller, 
havin'  onct  made  a  trip  to  Jamaica,  and  has  wonderful  stpries  to 
tell  that  beat  British  officers'  tiger  hunts  all  to  rags.  The  cocoa- 
nuts  were  so  big  there,  he  was  obliged  to  wear  an  iron  skillit  on  hia 
pate  for  fear  they  might  fall  from  the  trees  and  split  it  open ;  and 
one  day  the  monkeys  caught  him  asleep,  slipt  off  the  pot,  and  stole 
it  to  cook  their  victuals  in.  True  as  rates,  masters,  and  not  a  word 
of  regraggeration  in  it,  I  do  assure  you. 

That  was  the  boy  to  find  a  welcome.  The  youngsters  actilly  cried 
when  he  went  away,  gave  him  a  handful  of  cents,  and  walked  two 
miles  on  the  road  with  him  to  hear  his  stories  of  sharks  and  whales. 

There  is  another  advantage  of  this  temper,  that  even  niggers 
don't  know;  you  can  larn  as  you  travel.  I  larned  more  from  talk 
in  Loudon  than  ever  I  did  in  books  in  my  life,  and  noted  it  better. 
For  example — as  they  say  in  cypherin'  books— I  sit  alongside  of  a 
larned  man  at  some  grand  dinner;  now  larned  men  in  a  gineral 
way  are  all  as  stupid  as  owls,  they  keep  a  devil  of  a  thinkin',  but 
they  don't  talk,  i  So  I  stirs  up  old  Ueroglyphic  with  a  long  pole; 
for  it's  after  dark  lights  is  lit,  and  it's  time  for  owls  to  wake  up  and 
gaze. 

"I  have  been  tryin'  to  read  that  are  book  on  Ninevah,"  said  I. 

"  Oh  !"  sais  he,  "  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?" 

"  It  wants  the  pickaxe  and  crowbar,"  sais  I. 

"  Pickaxe  and  crowbar !"  sais  he,  for  that  made  him  turn  half 
round,  and  open  his  eyes  and  stare. 

Only  surprise  a  man.  Squire,  and  he  can't  help  listenin'. 

"  I  call  it  a  hard  case,"  said  I.  "  The  author  has  spent  amosi^ 
a  mortal  long  time  in  diggin'  up  these  curiosities  that  have  been 
onder  ground  Lord  knows  how  many  centuries,  and  now  he  has  gone 
right  off,  and  buried  them  all  again  in  a  book,  as  hard  to  get  into  as 
the  old  vaults." 

"Exactly,"  said  he;  "you  have  just  hit  it — very  well  expressed, 
6.nd  very  graphically — that  is  the  principal  defect  in  the  book." 

"P'raps,  Sir,"  said  I,  "you  would  bo  kind  enough  to  sumtotalise 
for  me  the  amount  of  his  discoveries  in  a  few  words  too,  for  I  won't 
bore  you,"  said  I. 

Well  in  ten  minutes  you  have  the  whole;  and  if  you  want  an 
explanation,  he  is  just  the  boy  to  give  it.  It's  just  the  same  now 
in  a  log-hut.  The  settler,  poor  lonely,  honest,  simple  critter  haint 
no  book  larnin',  but  he  is  acquainted  with  some  things  you  aint, 
that's  a  fact.  I  never  met  a  man  yet  that  couldn't  give  me  a  wrinkle, 
from  a  captain  of  one  of  our  men-of-war  in  the  Mediterranean,  that 
I  heard  tell  Lady  B the  way  to  peel  onions  without  tiiiglin'  her 


INTRODUCTORY    LETTER. 


19 


eyes,  was  to  hold  a  pin  between  her  teeth,  down  to  Sinful  Joy  the 
nigger  at  the  three  mile  plains,  who  gave  me  the  wonderful  cure  for 
jaundice  I  boast  so  much  of  ,.  i- 

At  every  turn  there  is  somethin'  to  observe  and  remember,  which, 
old  tho'  it  be,  is  new  to  you — some  impliment,  some  machine,  some 
strange  culture  of  curious  plants,  and  things  put  to  uses  you  never 
dreamed  of,  is  turnin'  up  all  the  time.  It  was  in  Persia  I  lamed  the 
art  of  stupifyin'  fish,  and  makiu'  them  float  on  the  surface,  without 
hurtin*  them,  for  food ;  and  the  first  chance  I  get,  I  will  try  it  in  the 
mackere'  fishary.  It  was  at  a  Quaker's  in  Genesee  I  first  met  with 
the  little  windmill  for  sawing  my  firewood  I  have  to  Slickville,  and 
in  South  America  I  larned  to  pysen  an  arrow  that  killed  deer  in- 
stantly without  aflfectin'  the  venison,  and  in  France  the  way  to  hatch 
fish-spawn,  and  on  the  Rhone  the  wonderful,  but  simple  and  cheap 
plan  of  the  Romans,  of  buildin'  houses  of  loam  superior  to  bricks. 
It  was  by  travellin'  I  picked  up  that  valuable  collection  of  receipts  I 
showed  you  onct. 

But  the  greatest  advantage  of  all  of  this  itineration  is,  you  can 
look  back  with  pleasure  on  travel.  You  forget  the  little  ups  and 
downs,  and  crosses  and  losses,  and  bumps  and  thumps,  and  brambles 
and  scrambles  by  the  way ;  but  memory  has  it  all  sketched  out  in 
landscapes  like,  rail  handsome  for  you,  that  imagination  has  helped 
to  put  in  gilt  frames.  And  tho'  the  forrest  in  them  puintin«-  contains 
rocks,  underbrush,  and  boggy  spots,  where  you  slumped  a^out,  broke 
down,  or  lost  your  way,  you  see  nothin'  in  the  background  but  a 
mass  of  wavin'  wood,  or  in  the  foreground  but  green  fields,  wiudin' 
roads,  and  smooth  rivers.     Time  has  mellowed  the  pictur'. 

Yes,  I  can  and  do  often  stop  short,  turn  round,  shade  the  sun  off 
my  eyes  with  my  hands,  and  look  back  at  my  travels  over  thi& 
unevarsel  world  with  pleasure.  But  if  it  was  all  barren,  all  dark, 
all  hardship,  and  all  privation,  as  some  grumblin'  fools  find  it,  what 
in  natur'  would  life  be?  Why,  it  wouldn't  be  endurable;  it  'ed 
give  pain,  and  not  pleasure.  You'd  be  afraid  to  look  back,  because 
it  would  awaken  onpleasant  recollections,  and  you'd  be  skeer'd  to 
look  forrcd;  for  if  the  world  don't  please  you  when  young,  it  can't, 
in  the  natur*  of  things,  when  you  are  old,  that's  a  fact.  That's  my 
philosophy,  at  least,  and  so  it  is  Black  Juba's  also. 

My  plan  is  this.  I  seek  the  sunni/  side  of  life  alwai/s,  unless  the 
ivcather  is  too  hot,  and  then  I  go  to  the  shade.  The  changes  in  tht 
tcnijjerature  make  mc  enjoy  both. 

And  now,  havin'  written  this  epistle,  I  shall  turn  round  to  tho 
fire,  light  my  cigar,  put  my  feet  up  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  enjoy  a 
smoke,  and  th"nk  of  old  times.     Hoping  to  hear  soon  from  you, 

I  remain,   iear  Sir, 

Your  faithful  friend, 

Sam  Slick. 


\^ 


■*■ 


WISE    SAWS; 


Ami 


m 


1. 


OR, 


'nr 


M 


SAM  SLICK  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  WIFE. 


CHAPTER   I. 


Up 

Jl  r 


CHAT  WITH   THE   PRESIDENT. 

Bffore  leaving  the  States  for  the  lower  provinces,  I  went  up  to 
\Vashiii^*ton,  to  meet  some  old  friends  assembled  there,  that  I  had 
known  to  England,  as  well  as  to  see  the  President,  who  wanted  me 
to  accept  the  office  of  a  commissioner,  and  to  report  privately  to  him 
on  the  fisheries  on -the  shores  of  Nova  Scotia,  New  Brunswick,  and 
Prince  Edward  Island.  I  dined  quietly  with  him  one  day,  a  dis- 
cussing the  latter  subject,  and  its  importance  to  our  coasting  and 
interior  trade,  when  he  pressed  the  office  on  mo  in  rael  aernest. 

*'We  don't  work  for  nothin'  you  know,  Mr.  Slick,"  sais  he, 
*'  things  aint  fixed  up  right,  when  you  only  find  paper,  quills,  and 
tape,  there  must  be  somethin'  to  keep  the  pen  agoin,  besides  fingers 
and  ink.  You  Avill  be  paid  liberally,  as  it  becomes  our  great  nation, 
for  your  services;  and  what  do  you  say  to  ray  pkcin'  a  naval  schooner 
at  your  disposal  to  make  your  tour  in,  and  to  protect  our  fishermen  ? 
"Wouldn't  that  more  comport  with  dignity,  and  be  goin'  the  whole 
figure,  and  doin'  the  thing  genteel?" 

"Thank  you.  Sir,"  sais  I,  "a  national  vessel  would  spile  all,  it 
would  make  folks  scary  about  talkin'  to  me ;  and  as  our  citizens  are 
breakin'  the  treaty  all  the  time,  we  mustn't  sanction  it  like,  openly 
and  officially,  but  just  wink  at  it,  and  pass  on,  as  if  we  didn't  fee  it 
or  know  it.  None  are  so  blind  as  those  that  won't  see,  and  nothin' 
is  so  easy  as  to  hood-wink  them  that's  too  inquisitive.  Oh,  dear  I 
how  often.  President,  I  have  larfcd  ready  to  die,  at  the  way  I  made 
a  custom-house  officer  at  Bangor  wink.     I  smuggled  —  no,  I  won't 

(20) 


% 


■'*• 


IFE. 


ent  up  to 
at  I  had 
inted  me 
y  to  him 
ick,  and 
ly,  a  dis- 
|ting  and 
ist. 

Isais  he, 
[ills,  and 
Is  fingers 
nation, 
behooner 
lermen  ? 
whole 

all,  it 

pens  are 

openly 

't  pee  it 

Inothin' 

dear  I 

made 

won't 


CHAT    WITH    THE    PRESIDENT. 


si 


nay  that,  for  I'd  scorn  to  smuggle,  it's  a  low  thing  —  but  I  imported 
several  times  British  goods  to  that  city  from  Nova  Scotia,  but  forgot 
to  enter  them  regular;  and  when  Bigelow  Pineo,  the  officer,  came  to 
search  (a  very  pious,  consciencious  man  he  was,  too,  an  elder  among 
the  elect,  and  an  awful  large  seven-foot  down-easter ;  they  used  to 
call  him  Big  Pineo),  'Brother  Pineo,'  sais  I,  'verily  I'm  ghid  to  bco 
you ;  how  is  the  good  lady  to  hum,  and  the  little  I3igs,  eh  '  None 
of  'em,  I  guess,  will  ever  make  the  man  their  father  is,  &3  Widow 
Atwater  said  to  me,  when  she  first  sot  eyes  on  you :  Laws,  mc,  Mr. 
Slick,  who  is  that  noblc-lookin'  man  ?  he  is  the  handsomest  I  ever 
saw  in  all  my  born  days.     My  !  what  a  fine  man  !'  " 

" '  Friend  Slick,'  he  would  say,  with  an  inward  chuckle,  like  a 
half-grunt,  and  a  half-cough  (Christian  men  never  larf ),  '  thee  aint 
improved,  I  see,  by  being  among  the  heathen  colonists,  that  live 
away  down  where  the  sun  riseth.  WhaWu  natur'  hast  thee  got  in 
all  these  trunks  ?'  ..».  . 

"  Smuggled  goods,'  sais  I,  '  of  course.* 

"  '  Oh  yes  !'  sais  he ;  '  and  if  they  were,  thee  wouldst  fetch  them 
here  to  be  seized,  of  course  !     How  soft  thee  is  !' 

"  And  then  he  gave  another  chuckle  at  that  bright  idea  of  hisn, 
that  made  his  chest  heave  again.  *  But,'  sais  I,  '  look  for  yourself, 
brother,  and  sarch  well.  Here's  my  spectacles,'  and  I  took  out  a 
pair  of  tortoise-shell  ones,  that  had  the  glasses  slipt  out,  and  two 
gold  eagles  slipt  in.' 

"  '  What  in  the  world  are  these  ?'  sais  he. 

"  '  Magnifiers,'  sais  I.  '  Put  them  on,  and  nothin'  will  escape 
you;  and  if  you  can't  see  through  them  at  first,  practice  will  soon 
make  you  parfect.  Accept  'em  for  my  sake,- for  they  are  curiosities, 
that's  a  fact.  The  benighted  colonists  wear  them,  when  the  sun 
shines,  to  keep  it  from  hurtin'  their  eyes.  But  come,  that's  a  good 
man,  put  the  chalk  mark  on  my  traps  right  off,  for  I  want  to  be  a 


> ) 


movin 

"  Well,  he  put  the  spectacles  in  his  pocket ;  and  as  he  stooped 
down  to  chalk  the  trunks,  sais  he :  *  Verily  thee  is  different  from 
other  men,  in  all  t^c.  doeth ;  seein'  I  can  take  no  fees,  thee  hast 
adopted  this  mode  to  obviate  a  hard  law.  If  these  trunks  contained 
smuggled  goods,  of  a  sartaiLty  thee  wouldst  not  fetch  them  here,  so 
I  will  mark  them.' 

"  No,  President,  we  must  wink,  or  put  on  solid  gold  spectacles, 
like  B  gelow  Pineo,  and  look  without  seein'.  I  would  prefer  going 
down  in  one  of  our  coastin'  vessels,  careless-like,  slippin'  into  this 
harbour,  and  dodgin'  into  that,  and  while  the  captain  is  tradin'  here 
and  tradin'  there  pick  up  all  the  information  I  want.  If  we  had 
them  fisheries,  they  would  be  worth  more  to  us  than  California." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  sais  he.  "  I  had  no  idea  of  their  immense  ex- 
tent until  lately.     I  aotilly  saw  a  barrel  of  Nova  Scotia  mackerel 


V 


♦I 


22 


litfAT    WITH    THE    PRESIDENT. 


the  otlier  day,  with  the  Halifax  brand  on  it,  away  up  to  the  Kocky 
Mountain.  Fact,  I  assure  you.  However,  consider  yourself  on  pay 
from  this  time,  six  dollara  per  day  for  wages,  and  six  dollars  nioro 
for  travellin'  expenses ;  and  if  you  have  to  charter  a  vessel,  draw  for 
the  amount." 

"  Presidcn't,"  sais  I,  "  that's  what  I  call  handsum  now.  But  as  I 
shall  be  gone  fur  a  considerable  spell,  for  I  want  a  trip  of  pleasure 
as  well  as  business,  I  will  take  care  there  is  no  extra  charge." 

"  Well,  Uncle  Sam,  Sir,"  sais  he,  "  is  able  and  willin'  to  pay  for 
ail  J  and  your  report  will  carry  great  weight  with  it,  for  it  is  well 
known  you  have  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  in  the  provinces,  and 
know  the  people  better  than  any  of  our  citizens  do.  To-morrow  you 
will  receive  your  commission,  and  letters  accreditin'  you  to  our  con- 
suls, and  to  the  governors  of  the  different  colonies." 

When  this  affair  was  settled,  sais  he,  "  Mr.  Slick,  did  you  know 
Lord  Horton,  him  that's  Lord  Aylsford  now,  when  you  was  to  Eng- 
land?" 

"  Knowed  him  well,"  sais  I. 

"  Is  he  as  smart  a  man  as  folks  say  ?"  ' 

"Guess  he  is  all  that,  and  more  too,"  sais  I,  "  he  is  a  wfcole  team  ' 
and  a  horse  to  s^are  —  that  man.  He  was  among  the  last  persons  I 
visited  when  I  was  leavin'  the  embassy ;  the  last  man  I  heard  speak 
in  the  Commons,  and  the  last  I  supped  with  to  London.  A  night 
or  two  afore  I  left  town,  I  went  down  to  the  House  of  Commons. 
I  don't  often  go  there.  It's  stupid  work,  and  more  than  half  the 
time  routine  business,  while  the  other  half  of  it  is  a  re-hash  of  old 
speeches.  Twice  laid  dishes  I  can  stand,  salt  fish  and  corn  beef 
twice  laid  I  sometimes  consait  is  as  good  as  whcTi  first  cooked;  but 
old  speeches  served  over  and  over  again  go  again  the  appetite. 
However,  having  nothin'  above  common  to  do,  and  hearin'  there 
was  to  be  a  bit  of  a  flare-up,  down  I  goes,  and  who  should  be 
speakin'  but  Horton,  him  thoy  now  call  Aylsford.  What  the 
plague  they  change  the  name  for  that  way,  I  don't  know.  If  they 
want  to  promote  a  man  to  a  higher  degree,  such  as  baron  (and  Lord 
knows  some  of  their  heads  are  barren  enough)  to  be  an  earl,  and  an 
eail  to  be  a  marquio,  and  so  on,  well  and  good — but  the  name  ought 
to  be  kept,  for  the  change  only  bothers  folks. 

"  Who  in  the  world  would  suppose  now  that  Lord  Dundonald  waa 
the  same  man  as  the  great  Lord  Cochran — the  greatest  naval  hero, 
next  to  Nelson,  England  ever  had.  It's  an  actual  fact,  I  knew  him 
s,  whole  year  afore  I  found  it  out,  and  only  then  by  accident)  fo^, 
like  all  brave  men,  he  never  talke  of  his  cverlastiu'  battles.  But 
this  is  neither  hero  nor  there;  the  English  have  a  way  of  their  own, 
and  It  is  no  use  talkin'  to  theui,  obstijiate  thuy  are,  and  obstinate 
they  will  be  to  the  eend  of  the  chapter." 

"  lilxaotly,"  said  the  President,  "  that's  my  idea  to  a  T,  when  Lor»l 


.1' 


CHAT    WITH      THE    PRESIDENT. 


2d^ 


Amphlitt  was  out  here  some  years  ago,  I  knowed  him.  Gineral 
Ichabod  Shegog  came  to  me  one  day,  and  sais  he,  '  There's  an  Eng- 
lish lord  to  the  Treemont ;  would  you  like  to  go  and  have  a  look  at 
him  V 

'<'Well,  I  would,'  sais  I,  Hhat  is  a  fact,  for  I  never  see  one  in 
my  life ;  but  how  shall  we  rig  up  V 

<(  ( Why,'  sais  he,  '  I  guess  I'll  go  in  a  general's  uniform,  and  you 
had  better  go  full  fig  as  a  grand  master  mason,  for  the  dross  13 
splendid.' 

"And  we  did  so;  the  lord  was  gracious  and  affable,  and  a  con- 
siderable smart  man,  I  tell  you.  He  seemed  a  good  deal  struck  with 
our  appearance,  and  I  thought  he  felt  a  little  mean,  seein'  that  he 
warnt  dressed  for  company,  for  he  had  nothin'  on  but  a  common 
frock  Coat,  plaid  trowsers,  and  buff  waistcoat,  coloured  neckcloth, 
and  great  thick-soled  shoes,  and  short  gaiters.  I  guess  he  had  to  sail 
pretty  close  to  the  wind,  for  they  do  tell  me  the  nobility  are  all  over 
head  and  ears  in  debt  to  England.  Heavens  and  airth  how  the  Gin- 
eral raved  when  he  came  out. 

"<  What,' sais  he,  '  that  little  fellow  a  lord  ?  have  they  no  better 
timber  to  Britain  to  make  one  out  of  than  that  ondersized  half-starved 
looking  critter  ?  Well  I  vow  I  never  want  to  see  another  lord,  'til  I 
see  the  Lord  Jehovah.' 

"  But  Shegog  warnt  much  of  a  man  of  the  world,  and,  what's 
v/uss,  he  is  so  chock  full  of  consait,  he  never  will  be.  The  lord  was 
short,  there's  no  doubt  of  that,  but  he  could  not  help  it,  for  he  would 
have  growed  more,  I  do  suppose,  if  he  could.  Lord  Amphlitt  was 
not  a  bad  name  for  the  poor  critter — was  it  ?  a  small  book  is  called 
a  pamphlet,  and  he  was  one-eighth  smaller  than  that ;  but  a  small 
house,  after  all,  well  filled,  is  better  than  an  ewptg  palace. 

"  Now  who  the  plague  would  have  guessed  that  that  Lord  Am- 
phlitt is  the  same  as  Lord  Scilly  ?  If  it  warnt  for  the  Scilly  Light 
on  the  chart,  I  should  never  recollect  his  name,  'til  the  end  of  time 
ran  out.     But  go  on." 

"  Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  Horton  had  the  floor,  and  if  he  didn't 
talk  it  into  'em,  it's  a  pity.  He's  a  pretty  speaker,  the  best  I've 
heard  in  England  by  a  long  chalk,  and  the  best  proof  that  what  he 
said  hit  hard,  was  you  might  have  heard  a  pin  fall.  It's  a  different 
kind  of  speakin'  from  what  our  great  guns  use,  and  I  aint  quite  sure 
I  don't  like  it  better.  There  is  less  oration  and  more  business  in  it, 
it's  all  to  the  point,  or  good  guards  and  blows  well  planted.  He  was 
at  a  rival  lord,  and  he  sartaiuly  did  make  the  little  man  look  small 
enough,  you  may  depend. 

"  Well,  the  next  day,  we  had  a  grand  dinner  at  the  embassador's 
Diplomatists,  statesmen,  and  the  gracious  knows  who  all  were  there. 
Well,  among  them  was  Lord  Horton ;  but  I  couldn't  get  a  chat  witk 


\ 


IHl  i 


(I  f 


24 


CHAT    WITH    THE    PRESIDENT. 


him  then,  for  dinner  was  served  as  soon  as  he  arrived,  but  I  managed 
it  in  the  evenin'. 

"  Lord  Dunk  Peterborough,  or  some  such  name,  sat  alongside  of 
me,  and  took  to  praisin'  our  great  nation  at  a  great  pace.  It  fairly 
took  me  in  at  first,  I  didn't  see  his  drift;  it  was  to  draw  me  out,  and 
set  me  a  bodstin'  and  a  braggin'  I  do  suppose.  And  I  fell  into  the 
trap  before  I  knowed  it. 

"  Arter  trottin*  me  round  a  bit,  sais  he,  *■  Your  minister  is  a  worthy 
representative  of  your  glorious  country.  He  is  a  schol;ir  niid  a 
gentleman.  One  of  his  predecessors  did  nothing  but  comptm.  If 
you  showed  him  a  pack  of  hounds,  they  were  nothing  to  Avli:it,  hun- 
dreds had  in  Virginia  and  the  southern  States.  If  a  fine  tree,  it 
was  a  mere  walking  stick  to  an  American  one.  If  a  winning  race-, 
horse,  he  had  half  a  dozen  that  would,  as  he  expressed  it,  walk  away 
from  him  like  nothing;  and  so  on.  Well,  there  was  another  who 
could  talk  of  nothing  but  satinettt  coarse  cotton,  the  slave  trade, 
and  what  he  used  to  call  New  England  domestics.  It  is  refreshing 
to  find  your  nation  so  well  represented.' 

"  All  this  was  said  as  civil  as  you  please,  you  could  not  fault  his 
manner  a  bit;  still  I  can't  say  I  quite  liked  it.  I  knew  there  was 
gome  truth  in  it;  but  how  little  or  how  much  I  couldn't  tell,  not 
bein'  much  of  a  scholar.  Thinks  I  to  myself,  I'm  a  man  more  used 
to  givin'  than  takin'  pokes,  md  never  could  keep  'em  long  without 
returnin'  them  with  interest.  So  go  on,  I'll  see  what  you  are  about, 
and  then  I  rather  guess  I  can  take  my  part  with  you. 

"  Sais  he,  '  I'm  told  his  Latin  is  very  pure.' 

"'It's  generally  allowed  there  can't  be  no  better,'  sais  I,  'there 
is  nobody  to  Cambridge  —  our  Cambridge  I  mean  —  that  can  hold  a 
candle  to  him.' 

"'It's  fully  equal,'  sais  he,  'to  the  generality  of  the  monastic 
Latin  of  the  middle  ages.' 

"  I  was  adrift  here :  I  didn't  like  the  expression  of  his  eye  —  it 
looked  quizzical ;  and  I  must  say,  when  larned  subjects  come  on  the 
carpet,  I  do  feel  a  little  grain  streaked,  for  fear  I  shall  have  to  con- 
fess ignorance,  or  have  to  talk  and  make  a  fool  of  myself  Thinks 
I  to  myself,  if  his  Latin  is  good,  why  didn't  he  say  it  was  as  good 
as  what  the  Latins  spoke  or  wrote,  and  not  stop  half-way  at  what 
Minister  used,  I  am  sure,  to  call  the  dark  ages  ?  However,  I'll  look 
quizzical  too,  and  put  my  best  foot  out. 

"'As  good  as  that  of  the  middle  ages?'  sais  Ij  'why,  that's  not 
Bayin'  much  for  it  either.  Aint  he  a  middle-aged  man  himself?  and 
hasn't  he  been  at  it  all  his  life  ?' 

" '  Well,  Slick,'  sais  he,  '  that's  uncommon  good ;  that's  one  of 
the  best  ttings  I  have  heard  for  a  long  time,  and  said  so  innocently 
too,  as  if  you  really  meant  it.  Capital,  by  Jove !  Come,  I  lik« 
that  amazingly.' 


3 


,H 


*l 


CHAT    WITH    THE    PRESIDENT. 


25 


"Think's  I  to  myself,  it's  more  than  I  do,  then;  for  T  didn't 
tniderstand  you,  and  I  don't  know  the  meanin'  of  what  I  said  myself. 
But  ril  pay  you  off  binieby,  Master  Dunk — see  if  I  don't. 

"  Sais  he,  lowerin'  his  voice,  confidential-like,  *  what  a  pity  it  is 
that  he  is  a  Unitarian  !' 

"  Now,  thinks  I,  ray  boy,  I've  got  you  off  cJead  languages  in  upon 
livin*  subjects,  I'll  play  with  you  as  a  cat  does  with  a  mouse. 

"  *  He  wouldn't  be  an  honest  man,  if  he  warn't,'  sais  I ;  '  he'd  bo 
beneath  contempt.' 

"  <  Well,'  sais  he,  '  I  never  argue  about  religion,  and  will  there- 
fore not  pursue  the  subject  farther;  but  it  creates  a  great  prejudice 
here.' 

"  'Religion,'  sais  I,  'my  good  friend,'  lookin'  all  amazed,  'why, 
what  in  natur'  has  religion  to  do  with  it  ?  It  has  neither  art  nor 
part  in  it.' 

" 'Exactly,'  said  he,  'that's  the  very  point.  People  here  think  a 
Unitarian  little  better  than  an  infidel.' 

" '  Then  you  might,'  sais  I,  'just  as  well  say  a  Tory  was  an  infidel, 
or  a  Whig,  or  a  Protectionist,  or  a  Free  Trader,  or  anybody  else ; 
there  would  be  just  as  much  sense  in  it.  I  believe  in  my  heart  the 
English  will  never  understand  us.' 

"  '  Pray,  may  I  ask,'  said  he,  '  what  you  call  a  Unitarian  ?' 

"  '  Sartainly,'  sais  I ;  'for  when  folks  go  to  argue,  they  ought  first 
to  know  what  they  are  talkin'  about ;  to  define  their  terms,  and  see 
they  understand  each  other.  I  '11  tell  you  in  a  few  words  what  a 
Unitarian  is.' 

"Just  then.  Minister  speaks  up,  (and  it's  a  curious  thing,  talk  of 
the  devil,  and  he  is  sure  to  heave  in  sight  directly),  '  Pass  the  wine, 
Mr.  Slick,  I'll  help  myself.'  '  And  push  it  on,  your  Excellency,' 
sais  I;  '  but  I  never  pass  wine  —  it  ain't  considered  lucky  in  Slick- 
ville.'  This  made  a  laugh  and  a  divarsion,  and  I  continues  :  '  You 
Bee,  my  Lord,  our  general  Government  is  a  federal  one,  exercisin' 
sartain  powers  delegated  to  it  by  the  separate  States,  which,  with 
this  exception,  are  independent  sovereignties.  Every  State  is  a  unit, 
and  those  units  form  a  whole ;  but  the  rights  of  the  separate  States 
are  as  sacred  as  the  rights  of  the  Government  to  Washington ;  and 
good  patriots  everywhere  stand  by  their  own  units,  and  are  called 
Unitarians;  while  some  are  for  streugthenin'  the  general  Govern- 
ment, at  the  expense  of  the  individual  sovereignty,  and  these  are 
called  Federalists ;  and  that's  the  long  and  the  short  of  the  matter. 
And  what  on  airth  religion  has  to  do  with  these  nicknames,  I  don't 
know.' 

"  Sais  he,  '  I  never  knew  that  before ;  I  thought  Unitarians  were 
•  "eligious  sect,  being  another  name  for  Socinians,  and  I  am  very 
giad  to  hear  this  explanation.' 


#& 


ii 


ti 


>i 


J  (, 


' 


26 


CHAT    WITH    THE    PRESIDENT. 


"  Thinks  I,  I  hope  it  will  tlo  you  good ;  it  is  as  good  as  a  middle- 
age  Latin,  at  any  rate. 

"  After  sonic  further  talk,  sais  he,  *  Your  Minister  is  not  a  very 
easy  man  to  get  awjuaintcJ  with.  Is  he  a  fair  specimen  of  the  New 
Englanders  ?  •  for  he  is  very  cold.' 

"  Hero's  at  you  again,  Master  Lord  Dunk,  sais  I ;  you  ain't  quite 

Bold  yet,  though  you  arc  bespoke — that's  a  fact.    '  Well,'  sais  I,  '  he 

is  cold,  but  that's  his  misfortune,  and  not  his  fault :  it's  a  wonder  to 

me  he  aint  dead  long  ago.    He  will  never  bo  quite  thawed  out.   The 

, chill  went  into  his  marrow.' 

'*  ^  What  chill  ?'  sais  he ;  '  is  not  that  his  natural  manner  ?' 

" '  How  can  you  ask  such  a  question  as  that,  my  Lord  ?'  sais  L 
•  VVhen  he  left  College  as  a  young  man,  ho  entered  into  the  ice  trade 
to  supply  New  Orleens  with  ice,  and  a  grand  spec  he  made  of  it  j 
but  it  near  upon  cost  him  his  life.  He  was  a  great  hand  to  drive 
Dusiness,  and  if  you  want  to  drive  business  with  us,  you  must  work 
yourself.  Ho  was  at  the  ice  lake  day  and  night  amost,  a  handlin' 
of  it ;  and  the  last  vessel  he  loaded  that  year  he  went  in  her  him- 
self. His  berth  was  near  the  companion-ladder,  the  best  berth  ia 
the  ship,  but  it  jincs  on  to  the  hold,  and  the  chill  of  that  ice  cargo, 
especially  when  he  got  into  the  hot  climate  of  New  Orleens,  so  pene- 
trated his  jints,  and  limbs,  and  marrow,  he  has  never  been  warm 
since,  and  never  will;  he  tells  me  it's  extendin'  upwards,  and  he  is 
afeard  of  his  heart.' 

"  Well,  he  roared  right  out ;  he  haw-hawcd  as  loud  as  a  man 
cleverly  and  politely  can  at  a  gentleman's  table,  and  says  he,  '  That's 
the  best  contrived  story  to  excuse  a  cold  manner  I  ever  heard  in  my. 
life.     It's  capital,  upon  my  word  !'  sj^' 

"  *  So  it  was.  Slick,'  said  the  President ;  '  it  was  well  done.  That 
was  a  first-rate  bam  !  J3ut  I  must  say,  some  of  the  New-England 
strait-laced  folks  arc  mortal  cold  —  that's  a  fact,  and  the  worst  of  it 
is,  it  ain't  intermittent;  they  ai*e  iced  down  e'en  amost  to  the  freez- 
in'-point,  and  the  glass  always  stands  there.  The  ague  is  nothin' 
to  it,  for  that  has  its  warm  fits ;  but  some  of  them  folks  have  tho 
cold  fit  always,  like  Ambassador.  No  wonder  the  Puritans  tolerated 
wine,  rum,  gin,  brandy,  and  all  that,  and  forbade  kissin'  j  it  was,  I 
suppose,  to 

"  '  Componnd  for  sins  they  were  inclined  to, 
By  damning  those  they  had  no  mind  to.* 

My  niece  to  Charlestown  told  me,  that  when  her  father's  brothtx 
came  from  New  Bedford,  and  kissed  her,  he  was  so  ^old  it  actilly 
gave  her  the  toothache  for  a  week  —  fact,  I  do  assure  you,  Slick ; 
folks  may  say  what  they  like,  a  cold  manner  never  covered  a  warm 
heart;  hot  water  imparts  a  glow  even  to  a  silver  teapot;  but  go  on, 
I  beg  pardon  for  interrupting  of  you.' 


'^\ 


'  M 


en  AT    WITH     TTfE     PRESIDENT 


27 


as  a  man 


"'There  are  stranger  things,  Lord  Uunk,'  sais  I,  *in  real  life  than 
in  fiction;  but  an  Englishman  won't  believe  in  anythin'  that  aint 
backed  by  a  bet.  Now  I'll  tell  you  a  story  will  astonish  your  weak 
nerves,  of  a  much  stronger  case  than  the  Ambassador's  chill,  and 
I'll  stake  a  hundred  dollars  on  its  truth  with  you.  You've  heard 
of  General  Montgomery,'  sais  I,  'haven't  you,  and  his  attack  on 
Quebec  ?' 

"  <  I  cannot  say  I  have,'  he  said.  '  I  think  there  was  a  French- 
man of  the  name  of  Montcalm,  who  distinguished  himself  at  Que- 
bec ;  but  Montgomery — Montgomery,  no,  I  never  heard  of  him.' 

" '  The  fact  is,  the  English  got  such  a  tarnal  lickin'  in  the  revo- 
lutionary vv^.,  they  try  to  get  rid  of  the  subject  by  sayin'  it  was  a 
little  provincial  afi*air,  and  pretend  to  know  nothin'  about  it.  Well, 
Montgomery  attacked  it  in  winter,  and  pretty  nearly  carried  it  under 
cover  of  a  snow-storm ;  but  the  garrison  was  prepared  for  him,  and 
\;hough  it  was  awful  cold  weather,  gave  him  such  a  warm  reception, 
that  he  was  about  to  retire,  when  he  and  his  two  aidecamps  were 
killed  at  one  shot.  Ho  left  a  good  many  poor  fellows  behind  him 
killed,  wounded,  and  prisoners.  Among  them  that  was  nearly  froze 
to  death,  in  fact  he  never  was  the  same  man  afterwards,  was  General 
Peep  —  he  was  then  Colonel  Peep,  and  served  as  a  volunteer.  He 
was  nearly  stiff  when  they  hauled  him  in,  and  then  they  thrust  him 
into  a  cold  stone-room,  without  a  fire,  and  artcrwards  sent  him  to 
England,  where  he  remained  till  the  peace.  That  winter  campaign 
nearly  fixed  his  flint  for  him.  Talk  of  Ambassador's  chill,  bad  as 
it  is,  it  is  nothin'  to  his.  One  of  his  legs  never  had  any  more  feelin' 
in  it  artcrwards.     He  used  to  keep  a  tavern  down  to  Slickville.' 

" '  What !  a  General  keep  a  tavern,'  said  he,  and  he  opened  his 
eyes  wide,  and  wrinkled  the  hair  of  his  head  with  astonishment. 

" '  To  be  sure,'  said  I,  '  why  not  as  well  as  any  other  citizen  ? 
That's  the  reason  our  taverns  are  so  good,  because  they  are  kept  by 
men  of  honour.  ^  u  can't  say  as  much  as  that  of  every  tavern  in 
London,  I  know.  Well,  I've  often  seen  the  old  General  sittin'  out 
on  his  stoop  smokin',  but  the  cigars  and  liquor  of  his  house  never 
cost  him  anything;  he  made  them  all  out  of  his  leg  that  had  no 
fcelin'  in  it.  He  used  to  bet  folks  he  could  run  a  pin  further  into 
his  leg  than  they  could  into  theirs,  and  in  course  he  always  won  the 
day — and  didn't  they  jump,  and  screech,  and  scream  with  the  pain, 
when  they  tried  to  outdo  him  !  Once  I  saw  him  win  a  hogshead 
of  brandy  from  the  Captain  of  a  Cape  Coddef  that'  had  just  arrived 
from  France,  by  bettin'  him  he  would  run  a  pin  clear  in  up  to  tho 
head,  and  walk  across  the  room  with  it ;  and  lie  did  it,  although  I 
must  say  he  made  a  plaguey  wry  face  too,  as  if  he  had  a  little  over- 
done itr 

"'Well,  that  beats  all  natur','  said  the  Captin;  'but  Gineral, 
that  ere  calamity  fell  on  you  in  your  country's  cause;  take   tho 


s*. 


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28 


CHAT    WITH    THE    PRESIDENT. 


brandy,  it  will  niako  your  h(*  fool  o^rain  like  a  Christlun's  log,  and 
your  toes  tingle  too  if  you  tnko  enough  of  it;  iiiid  whon  that  is  done 
Bcnd  UK)  word,  and  wo  Capo  (Jod  skippors  will  olub  and  Bond  you 
anothor  ono.' 
'Jt  "  '  You  doubted,'  saia  I,  '  my  lord,  about  his  Exoellcncy's  chill* 

^,       what  do  you  ihink  of  this  case  ?     Aint  it  a  whopper?' 

"  '  I  don't  for  a  moment  doubt  your  word,  Mr.  Sliok  ;  and  there- 
fore  rray  don't  misunderstand  me,'  said  he  ;  'but  there  is  some  mis* 
take  in  it.  It  is  incredible ;  for  if  the  lojjj  bad  boon  so  devoid  of 
all  feeling  it  would  have  mortified.  There  nni.st  have  been  souio 
slight  of  liand  in  this,  otherwise  it  does  not  appear  impossible.' 

*'  *  Well,'  sais  1,  '  if  I  make  a  mistake  it's  my  fault,  I'll  bet  you 
a  hundred  dollars  that  Minister  corroborates  it.' 

"  *  Done  I'  sais  ho. 

"  *  And  done  I'  sais  I ;  and  we  shook  hands.  ' 

"  Just  before  the  room  was  vacated.  Lord  Horton  and  Lord  Dunt 
Peterborough  boin'  the  only  two  loft,  I  saw  it  was  my  time.    Horton 
bad  been  talkin'  to  Minister,  and  had  just  made  his  scrape,  and  was 
for  quittiu'.     When  ho  reached  the  door  he  turned  and  paused. 
^   "  *  Mr.  Slick,'  sais  he,  '  one  word  with  you,  if  you  please.' 

'*  That  was  grknd;  it  was  just  what  I  wanted;  a  diversion  like  in 
my  favour. 

'' '  In  one  minute,  my  lord,'  sais  I :  '  only  ono  minute.' 

"  '  Minister,'  sais  I ;  did  you  know  General  Peep  V 

u  'Very  well,'  he  said  ;  for  ho  was  a  man  of  few  words. 

"  '  Do  you  rocolloct  the  remarkable  power  he  had,'  said  I,  of  bcin* 
ible  to  thrust  a  pin  into  his  leg  without  flinchin'  ?' 

"  *I  have  scon  him  do  it  a  hundred  times.' 

"  '  You  are  sure  it  penetrated  ?'  said  I. 

"  *  Certain,'  said  he  ;  *  quite  positive.* 

"  And  then  he  kind  of  inclined  his  body  forward,  as  much  as  to 
Bay,  '  I  guess  you  may  go  now,'  and  we  took  the  hint,  bowed,  and 
made  off. 

"  *  Are  you  satisfied,  my  lord  ?'  sais  I. 

"  *  I  must  be,'  he  answered  ;  '  the  terms  havo  been  complied  with, 
but  I  cannot  understand  it  yet.  It  is  the  most  wonderful  thing  I 
ever  heard.  I'll  send  you  a  cheque  in  the  morning  for  the  amount 
of  the  bet.     Good-night.' 

"  '  Beg  pardon,  Lord  Horton,'  sais  I,  '  for  keepin*  of  you  waitin',, 
but  I  was  just  refcrrin'  to  Minister  to  decide  a  bet  between  Lord 
Dunk  and  me.' 

"  *  What  day  can  you  come  and  dine  quietly  with  me  ?'  said  ha 
*  I  want  to  talk  to  you  very  much  on  colonial  subjects,  which  no  one 
understands  half  as  well  as  yourself.' 

"  *  Sorry,  my  lord,'  sais  I,  '  but  I  am  engaged  every  day  until  my 
cieparture,  which  is  by  the  next  steamer.' 


C- 


OnAT    WITH 


f, 


HE    PRESIDENT, 


29 


« *  Ah  I*  Baid  ho,  '  that's  unfortunate.  Could  you  manage  to  come 
and  take  Hupper  with  mo  to-morrow,  for  I  always  cat  lightly  before 
going  to  IkhI  i*    I  dino  out,  but  will  return  early — say  half-past  ten  ? 

"  '  With  pleasure,'  sais  I.     '  I  am  goin*  to-morrow  where  I  rauRt  i 
go,  but  wiiere  I  needn't  stay ;'  and  wo  shook  hands  and  parted. 

"  There  is  some  satisfaction  in  talkin'  to  a  man  like  that,  ho  can 
talk  up  to  you,  or  talk  down,  as  the  case  may  be  ;  the  other  fellow 
thinks  he  knows  everything,  but  ho  don't  know  this :  It  requires  a 
yood  slock  of  wit  to  set  up  for  a  toay  ;  and  that  thmigli  quizzin'  U 
very  pleasant,  it's  a  game  that  two  can  plat/  at. 

"  In  the  morniu'  up  comes  a  draft  for  one  hundred  dollars,  which 
I  sent  back  in  a  note.  ^  ^ 

" '  Dear  Lord  Dunk, 
"*I  return  you  the  cheque,  which  1  cannot  think  of  retainin* 
under  the  circumstanoos.     The  leg  which  was  the  subject  of  the  bet 
was  as  good  as  the  monastic  Latin  of  the  middle  ages,  and  like  it, 
•vas  a  tolerably  good  imitation,  for  it  was  a  cork  one. 

"  *  Yours  always, 

" '  Samuel  Slick.* 

"  Now  that's  what  I  call  sending  as  good  as  you  get.' 

'^  Exactly,"  said  the  President ;  ''  it  don't  do  to  let  benighted 
foreigners  take  airs  before  our  citizens,  relative  to  any  of  our  depart- 
mental  officers.'  My  ambassadors  may  not  dance  as  elegantly  as 
European  courtiers,  but  they  can  walk  round  them  in  a  treaty,  that's 
a  fact.  I  think,  wo  may  fairly  boast,  Mr.  Slick,  and  it's  a  fact  we 
have  a  right  to  be  proud  of,  and  a  sign  of  great  intellectual  supe- 
riority, that  we  have  the  best  of  the  bargain  in  every  treaty  we  have 
made  with  every  nation  in  the  world,  from  the  English  down  to  the 
Indians.  It's  a  great  feather  in  our  cap  of  Liberty,  Mr.  Slick,  for  it 
is  the  feather  that  forms  at  once  the  warrior's  plume  and  the  diplo- 
matist's pen.  You  must  help  me  to  a  hint  how  to  get  these  fish- 
cries.  Now  they  are  going  to  build  railroads  through  the  provinces, 
I  propose  to  grant,  as  an  equivalent  for  the  fisheries,  leave  to  use  our 
lines  for  the  mails,  if  they  prefer  it  to  their  own.  We  must  ofier 
tiomething  like  an  omelette  soufftS,  that  looks  large,  thougn  it  is  ouly 
a  mouthful  of  moonshine.     You  take,  Siiek,  don't  you?" 

'*  A  nod  is  as  good  as  a  wink  to  a  blind  horse,"  t-ais  I. 

"Oh  no,"  he  continued;  "our  Latin  aint  good,  and  our  English 
[aint  good — at  least  so  they  say;  but  there  is  one  admission  at  least 
they  must  make,  they  have  felt  that  our  swords  are  good.  But  go 
Ion,"  said  the  President,  "  I  want  to  hear  about  Lord  Horton.  I 
jcount  it  a  great  privilege  to  hear  you  talk,  for  you  are  a  man  who 
[travels  with  your  eyes  open  always." 

"  I  tell  you  whai,  President"  sais  1,  ^^  seein   is  helievin' ;  hut  ii 
Uiint  them  that  stare  the  most  who  see  Hie  best  ahcays." 
3* 


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80 


STEALING    A     S  1»  £  E  C  H 


CHAPTER  11. 
.'      '  STEALING  A   SPEECH. 

"  Well/*  sais  I,  continuin'  my  confab  with  the  President  the  next 
mornin*,  "the  day  after  the  bet,  I  was  up  to  my  eyes  in  business, 
gettin'  the  papers  in  my  charge  in  order  for  quittin'  the  embassy. 
We  all  met  at  lunch ;  it  was  our  great  meal,  for  it  was  the  hour, 
you  know,  we  was  used  to  feed  at  home,  and  arter  all  it  seems  most 
proper,  for  natur's  dinner  beP  rings  at  one.  Dinner,  therefore,  was 
only  a  matter  of  form  arter  tbat,  and  used  for  show  and  hospitality, 
Charapain  was  our  only  liquor,  for  that's  what  we  use  to  our  hotels, 
where  it  is  the  best  and  cheapest  wine  ;  there  it  is  the  dearest,  but 
who  cares?  Uncle  Sara  pays  for  all.  I  suppose  you  don't  know 
that  gentleman,"  sais  I,  "  President ;"  and  I  gave  him  a  wink. 
"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  who  he  is. 

"  You  have  heard  of  John  Bull,  it  is  the  gineral  name  of  the 
English,  as  *  Frog '  is  of  the  French  j  and  a  capital  name  it  is,  for  he 
has  all  the  properties  of  that  brute.  Breachy  as  Old  Scratch, 
breakin'  down  neighbours'  fences,  runnin'  off  with  other  bulls' 
wives,  bellowin'  at  nothin',  ready  to  fight  everybody  and  everything, 
and  so  stupid,  if  he  sees  red  cloth  he  makes  right  at  it,  full  chizel, 
cross-grained,  onsartain,  and  dangerous,  you  can  neither  lead  him, 
nor  coax  him,  nor  drive  him.  The  only  way  to  manage  him  is  to 
hopple  him,  and  fortunately  he  is  pretty  well  hoppled  with  the 
national  debt.  It's  a  weight  to  bis  heels  tliat  spiles  his  runnin',  and 
keeps  him  to  home  to  paw  up  the  dust  and  roar  for  his  own  amuse- 
ment. Well,  Uncle  Sam  is  us.  Uncle  is  a  nice  word,  aint  it.  Sir  ? 
It'?  a  word  of  kindness  and  affection.  lie  is  a  brother  of  your  father 
or  your  mother  j  and  if  ho  has  no  chicks  of  his  own,  pets  all  his  nephews 
and  nieces,  makes  them  presents,  sends  them  to  school^  pays  for 
their  visits,  and  when  he  dies  leaves  all  his/eady  rhino  to  them. 
There  is  nothin  like  an  uncle,  but  '  Uncle  Snm '  is  the  president  of 
all  uncles.  He  adopts  the  whole  nation,  and  pays  all  the  household 
of  the  State.  Ho  is  pretty  well  imposed  upon  too  sometimes.  They 
take  it  out  of  him  whenever  they  can,  but  pretend  all  the  time  that 
what  they  do  is  for  his  good  and  benefit,  and  swear  they  haint  one 
mite  or  morsel  of  selfishness  in  'em.  It's  all  for  '  Uncle  San).' 
They'd  die  by  him  \f  it  was  necessary,  but  they  had  a  jjlaguey  sight 
sooner  live  by  him,  that's  a  fact.  Our  first  uncle  was  Sam  Wash- 
ington, and  arter  that  we  called  them  all  Sam.  Sister  Sail's  chil- 
dren— the  little  cunnin'  ones — call  me  '  Uncle  Sam,'  cause  I  pays 
for  them  all.     Souj<3  of  these  days  [  hope  I  shall  bo  Father  Sum, 


STEALING    A    SPEECH 


81 


and  then  I  shall  see  if  the  tune  of  these  critters  is  altered  and  ne"W 
set  with  variations. 

"  But  I  was  speakin'  of  the  lunch.     Sais  Preserved  Fish  to  me 
the  other  attache — awful  name  that,  aint  it  ?     The  fact  is,  the  old  ! 
Fishes  of  New  Hampshire  were  Puritans   of  the  strictest  school, 
makin'  Sunday  a  day  and  a  half  long,  by  beginnin*  at  twelve  o'clock 
on  Saturday ;  though  Preserved  has  got  bravely  over  that,  he  drinks, 
as  he  says,  '  like  a  fish/  swears  all  the  newest  invented  slang  oaths, 
and  plays  cards  every  night,  and  the  devil  all  the  time.     Wcl)  some 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  a  baby  or  spawn  Fish  like  to  have  died 
of  the  croup  or  the  cholic,  or  some  ailment  or  another,  but  got 
through  it,  and  his  mother  called  him  that  was  so  mercifully  saved 
'  Preserved ;'  so  there  has  been  a  Preserved  Fish  in  the  family  ever 
since.     Well  his  father,  'Old  Presarved,'  has  great  interest  in  Var- 
mont,  and  Ma'ne,  and  New  Hampshire,  where  he  makes  cookin* 
stoves  with  the  barrel-oven  top,  at  his  celebrated  factory  at  Maple 
Sugar  Grove,  and  sets  them  up  himself,  which  fetches  him  into  every 
man's  house.     The  women  all  swear  by  the  stoves  (and  they  are  a 
first  chop  article,  that's  a  fact),  and  in  course  by  him,  and  the  men 
ditto  their  wives.     He  can  influence  all  the  elections  there  up  and 
down,  and  get  his  son  on  the  embassy,  as  one  of  the  paid  attaches. 
If  he  would  take  care  of  himself  that  critter  would  get  on,  but  he 
won't,  he  can't  change  his  natur'.     A  berrin'  remains  a  herrin',  and 
a  dolphin  a  dolphin,  and  a  skate  a  skate,  and  this  'odd  Fish'  will 
be  the  same,  till  a  shark  or  porpoise  sucks  him  in,  head,  gills,  and 
tail. 

"  *  Well,*  sais  Presarved  to  me,  *  if  your  friend  Lord  Dunk  was 
here  to-day,  he  wouldn't  say  'Uncle  Sam'  was  cold,  I  know.  See 
how  he  smiles,  and  smirks,  and  rubs  his  hands ;  depend  on  it  he  feels 
good  all  over.  And  that  reminds  mc  of  your  bet';  you  don't  intend 
for  to  go  for  to  send  that  feller's  cheque  for  the  hundred  dollars  back, 
like  a  nateral  born  fool,  do  you  ?' 

" '  Sartainly,  I  do,'  sais  I.  '  He  was  bit,  and  it  don't  convene  to 
the  character  of  our  embassy  to  do  the  thing  that's  mean.' 

"  '  The  character  of  the  embassy  be  damned,'  said  he.  '  I  railly 
thought  you  knowed  too  much  of  the  world  for  that.  Why  you  ara 
the  only  Connecticut  man  I  ever  met  with  that  even  ever  heard  of  a 
conscience,  except  6n  a  Sunday.' 

" '  Well,  if  you  stay  here  much  longer,'  said  I,  '  I  guess  the  cha- 
racter ^f  our  embassy  »vill  be  what  you'd  wish  it.  But  if  you  had 
Buch  a  hook  in  your  gills,  Master  Fish,  you'd  be  glad  enough  to  open 
your  mouth,  and  have  it  taken  out,  and  then  be  thrown  back  in  the 
water,  I  know.' 

" '  Slick,'  said  he,  '  if  ever  you  dare  to  make  fun  of  my  name 
['11—'  ^ 

'•'  *  Take  a  glass  of  wi^e  with  you,  say,  that's  the  way  to  finish  the 


n 


STEALING    A    SPEECH. 


II'     '• 


M 


aentence,  for  I  shall  only  have  two  or  three  days  more  at  the  furdest, 
and  that's  too  short  to  quarrel  in.' 

"  *  Well/  said  he,  '  I  believe  you  are  half  right.  Scipio,  some 
champain.* 

"*But  what  makes  Uncle  Sam  so  good-natured  to-day?"  said  I. 

tc  I  Why/  said  he,  *  some  college  don  called  here,  a  sort  of  crack 
in?n,  a  double  first,  I  think  they  called  him ;  and  he  and  Uncle  Sam 
had  a  discussion  about  some  Greek  passage.  Since  he  went  away  the 
old  coon  has  been  up  to  his  eyes  in  Greek ;  and  I  rather  guess,  from 
his  manner,  that  he  has  found  out  that  he  is  right.' 

"  Sais  I,  amovin'  up  to  his  eend  of  the  table,  '  What  does  your 
Excellency  think  of  the  Latin  of  the  middle  ages  ?" 

"  Sais  he,  *Sam,  don't  call  me,  when  we  are  located  and  domesta- 
cated  together,  'your  Excellency,'  it's  all  bunkum,  you  know.' 

" '  Well,'  sais  I,  '  we  are  in  a  land  of  titles.  Sir,  a  place  where 
folks  thinks  a  great  deal  of  'em ;  and  if  we  d(5n't  do  it  when  alone, 
perhaps  we  will  be  too  free  and  easy  in  public' 

"  *  Well,'  sais  he,  'and  it's  no  use  talking.  People  do  like  handles 
to  their  names,  perhaps  there  is  some  truth  in  that.' 

"  '^Besides,'  sais  I,  we  approbate  it  all  over  our  great  nation.  Do 
you  recollect  the  horscferry  above  Katskill  on  the  Hudson  V 

* '  Perfectly,'  said  he. 

"'And  old  Rip  Van  Hawser  the  ferryman,  and  his  two  splendid 
galls  Gretchen  and  Lottchcn.  Oh,  my  sakes!  weren't  they  whole 
teams  of  themselves,  and  a  horse  to  spare  ?  That  wicked  little  devil 
Gretchen  was  as  quick  as  a  foxtrap,  and  as  strong  as  a  man.  If  she 
clinched  you,  it  warn't  easy  to  break  her  hold,  I  tell  you.  I  recollect 
a  romp  I  onct  had  with  her.' 

" '  Well  never  mind  that,  at  present,'  sais  he,  good-naturedly  j 
*but  I  recollect  old  Rip  Van  Hawser  perfectly,' 

"  ' But  don't  you  mind  his  darter.s  ?'  sais  I ;  'for  it  caused  more 
than  half  the  people  to  cross  the  ferry  jr  t  to  gifc  a  squint  at  them 
beauties.' 

" '  We  won't  mind  them  just  now,'  said  he ;  '  but  what  of  old 
Bip?' 

"'Well,'  sais  I,  'just  to  show  you  how  universal  titles  are  even 
in  our  almighty  evcrlastin'  country,  and  how  amazin'  fond  fellers  are 
of  'em,  ril  tell  you  what  Rip  Van  Hawser  said. 

"  '  The  first  time  I  ever  crossed  over  that  ferry,'  sais  old  Rip  to 
mo:  'Gineral,'  sais  he,  'just  stand  near  your  horse,  for  it's  more 
rougher  as  common  to-day ;  for  you  sec  and  ondcrstand  and  know 
that  when  the  wind  blows  so  like  the  teyvil  den  it  is  rough,  and 
when  do  wind  go  down  deu  do  wave  go  right  down  too  more  fae>'>r 
than  it  got  up.     So,  gineral,  just  stand  near  him/ 

"  '  I  aint  no  gineral,'  sais  I. 

" '  Well  den,  colonel/  sais  he. 


STEALING    A    SPEECH. 


like  handles 


ivliat  of  old 


" 'I  aitit  a  colonel,  nor  an  officer  at  all/ 

" '  "Well  den  judge/  sais  he,  'just  hold  on  to  do  rein. 

"  '  1  aint  a  judge  or  a  lawyer  either,'  said  I. 

"  '  Well  den  bishop,'  said  he. 

"  '  I  am  no  bishop  nor  minister  either/ 

"  'Oh  den,  squire.' 

"  '  Out  agin,'  I  said,  laughing,  '  I  am  no  squire.' 

"  Den  wliat  de  teyvil  are  you  V  said  old  Rip,  lookin'  up  and  restin' 
on  his  oars. 

"  '  Nothin','  sais  I. 

"  '  Den,'  said  he,  '  I  charge  you  notin'  for  ferriage.  I  carry  you 
free  gratis,  for  you  are  de  fust  man  that  has  crossed  for  a  week  that 
had  no  title.' 

"'And  not  a  penny  would  he  take,  but  insisted  upon  my  goin' 
into  his  house.  Dear  me,  I  am  amazed  you  don't  remember  those 
galls !  There  wasn't  too  much  of  the  old  Dutch  build  about  them. 
They  were — ' 

"  Here  Ambassador  put  in  his  oar  with  a  quiet  larf.  *  I  didn't 
gay  I  didn't  remember  the  young  ladies.  But  what  question  was 
that  you  asked  about  the  Latin  language  ?' 

" '  Why,  your  Excellency,'  said  I,  '  what  sort  of  Latin  was  that, 
that  was  written  in  the  middle  ages  ?' 

"'In  general  barbarous  and  poor;  but  there  was  some  good,  and 
that  i?  but  little  known ;  perhaps  Dr.  Johnson  knew  more  of  their 
literature  than  any  man  of  his  day.' 

" '  Tlien  it  is  no  great  compliment  to  say  of  a  man's  Latin,  that 
it  is  about  as  good  as  that  of  the  monastic  Latin  of  the  middle  ages  ?' 

"  '  Decidedly  not,'  sais  he ;  '  quite  the  other  way.  But  tliat  re- 
minds me  of  a  curious  story.  You  know  the  little  square-built 
nobleman,  that  always  sits  and  looks  the  peer?  (How  singular  it  is, 
Sam,  the  Whigs  are  the  haughtiest  in  private,  and  most  tyrannical 
in  public  life,  of  any  folks  here  !)  He  goes  by  the  nickname  of  the 
'  military  critic,'  on  account  of  his  finding  fault  with  everything  the 
Duke  did  in  Spain,  and  always  predicting  his  defeat  and  ruin.  Well, 
when  the  lleforni  Bill  was  before  Parliament,  everybody  made  flash 
speeches,  and  among  the  rest,  the  '  great  military  critic'  He  made 
a  Latin  quotation,  of  which  the  reporter  could  only  catch  the  sense, 
as  he  had  never  met  with  the  lines  before ;  so  when  he  came  to  the 
newspaper  office,  he  told  them  its  purport — that  which  is  agitated  is 
durable,  but  that  which  is  unmoved  decays.  Well,  the  editors 
couldn't  recollect  itj  they  ran  over  ever  so  many  indexes,  time  was 
pressing,  and.  they  had  to  try  their  hands  at  making  that  meaning 
into  Latin  verse.  The  next  year  the  puzzle  was  found  out;  the 
noble  peer  was  about  as  much  of  a  scholar  as  a  military  critic ;  he 
fobbed  it  from  Boswell's  '  Life  of  Johnson,'  who  quoted  them  out 
of  the  fulness  of  his  store  of  learning.     Theso  are  the  lines/  said 


i'  i 


W  STEALING    A    SPEECH. 

he,  and  he  repeated  them  so  fast  they  sounded  like  one  everlastin' 
word. 

"  '  Give  them  to  me  in  pencil,  please,  Sir/  said  I,  '  for  I  couldn't 
repeat  them  an  hour  hence.  It  aint  that  Latin  is  so  heavy  to  carri/y 
hut  you  have  such  a  slippery  hold  of  it.'  "* 

Here  the  I^resident  broke  in  agin  with  one  of  his  confounded  in- 
terruptions. "Slick,"  sais  he,  "it's  a  pity  your  fathcF  hadn't  sent 
you  to  College,  as  mine  did  me ;  you  would  have  been  a  great  man, 
if  he  had,  and  perhaps  filled  uiy  shoes."  And  he  looked  good  all 
over,  and  twisted  his  whiskers  with  his  fingers  with  as  much  plea- 
sure as  a  feller  does  when  he  thinks  he  looks  rather  killin'.  Thinks 
I  to  myself,  a  man  may  be  a  president,  and  no  great  shakes  either, 
for  after  all  he  is  only  the  lead  horse  of  a  team.  He  has  got  the 
go  in  him,  and  that's  all;  but  he  can't  hold  back,  which  is  a  great 
matter,  both  in  statesmen  and  horses.  For  if  he  slacks  up,' he  is 
rid  over  by  those  behind  him,  and  gets  his  neck  broke  —  ho  must  gf 
or  die.  I  didn't  say  it  tho',  for  it  don't  do  in  a  general  way  to  blart 
out  all  you  think.  But  I  observed,  "President,"  sais  I,  "that's  i 
question  I  have  often  thought  of,  and  on  the  whole,  I  think  it  i.s 
more  better  than  as  it  is.  If  I  had  been  a  scholar,  like  Ambassador 
I  should  have  consorted  with  scholars  —  for  like  loves  like  in  this 
world  —  and  been  above  the  level.  I>ein'  under  it,  as  all  the  masses 
are,  I've  mixed  with  them,  and  have  a  wider  rim  to  my  wheel.  If 
I  don't  make  so  deep  a  mark  on  the  road,  1  move  easier,  and  do  less 
mischief.  While  others  stick  in  tho  mud,  I  move  on.  Poor  dear 
old  Minister,  Mr.  Hopewell,  was  always  at  father  to  send  me  to 
College;  but  father  used  to  say  tho'  ministers  knew  the  way  to 
heaven,  it  was  the  only  one  they  did ;  but  they  knew  no  more  about 
the  cross-roads  of  this  world  than  children.  So  what  does  he  do 
but  go  to  Boston,  under  pretence  of  selling  a  horse,  and  walk  into 
the  office  of  old  1-iwyer  Leonard  Pie.  'Lawyer,'  sais  he,  'I  want 
your  advice.' 

"  Well,  old  Pie,  who  was  a  pretty  crusty  fellow,  and  a  knowin' 
old  coon  too,  put  his  big  grey  eyes  on  him,  and  held  out  his  hand, 
without  speakin'  a  word,  as  much  as  to  say,  if  you  want  me  to  talk, 
drop  a  fee  in,  if  you  please.  Lawyers  aint  like  coachmen,  they  take 
their  tip  be/ore  they  start,  t' others  wait  till  the  Journey  is  over.  But 
father  warnt  born  yesterday,  he'd  cut  his  eye-teeth  as  well  as  Pie, 


It  occurs  in  Boswell'a 
It  ia  given  as  a  quota- 


*  I  have  looked  out  the  passnge  referred  to. 
'I  Life  of  Johnson"  (Vol.  iii.  p.  271,  3rd  edition). 
tion  from  Janus  Vitalis,  and  is  as  follows : 

"  Immota  labe.?cunt 
Et  quoB  perpetuo  sunt,  agitata  maneut." 

The  only  diflFerence  between  the  ambassador's  copy  and  the  extract,  ap« 
pears  to  be  an  emendation  of  his  own,  for  he  has  written  it  Labajcunt. 


STEALING    A    KPIECH. 


e  everlastin* 


00  what  does  he  do,  but  take  hold  of  it  with  his  own  hand.     'It 
ainte  law,  Squire,  I  want,'  said  he. 

"  <  What  the  plague  do  you  want  then  ?"  said  Pie,  tryin'  to  get 
his  hand  back  j  but  the  old  gentleman  held  on  like  grim  death  to  a 
dead  nigger. 

"  '  I  want  to  know,'  sais  father,  '  the  advantage  of  goin'  to  Cam- 
bridge.' 

"  *  I'll  tell  you,*  sais  Pie.  '  A  college  education  shows  a  raan  how 
devilish  little  other peojile  know* 

"  '  'Zactly,'  sais  father ;  '  that's  just  my  opinion ;  thank  you,  Sir.' 
And  he  give  his  hand  such  a  squeeze,  he  forced  the  ring  into  the 
bone  of  the  other  finger,  and  nearly  started  the  blood  under  his 
nails.    It  set  the  old  lawyer  a  jumpin'  and  a  squeeiin',  like  anything. 

"  <  Confound  you/  sais  he,  '  what  do  you  mean  by  that  V 

" '  Nothin,'  sais  father,  '  but  a  mark  of  my  friendship.'  And 
while  lawyer  was  a-lookin'  at  his  hand,  father  made  his  scrape  and 
walked  off. 

"  '  Found  it  out,'  said  the  old  man,  when  he  returned.  •  ' 

'<  <  What,  father  V  sais  I. 

"  '  College  education,'  sais  he.  '  The  only  good  it  is,  is  to  show- 
how  devilish  little  other  folks  know.' 

" I  believe  he  was  right.  President,  after  all;  for  you  see  our  best 
scholars'  Latin  is  no  better  than  the  '  monastic  Latin  of  the  middle 
ages.'  " 

"  Slick,"  said  the  President,  "  the  advice  of  a  lawyer  without  a 
fee,  all  the  world  knows,  is  no  good.  If  the  old  man  had  dropped 
a  dubloon  in  Pie's  hand,  he  would  have  said :  '  The  advantage  of  a 
college  education,  is  to  show  you  how  much  more  you  know  than 
other  people.'  " 

"  Perhaps  so,"  sais  I.  "  But  now  you  have  been  to  Cambridge, 
and  I  haven't,  can  you  tell  me  the  Latin  or  Greek  word  for  india- 
rubber  shoes  r  Why,  in  course  you  can't.  If  you  could,  and  ad- 
vertised them  that  way,  who  the  plague  would  know  what  you  meant  ? 
Better  as  it  is,  Sir.  It  warn't  your  Greek  made  you  a  president,  or 
what  little  Latin  I  picked  up  at  night-school,  that  made  me  an 
attache.  But  I'll  proceed,  if  you  please,  with  the  story.  Where 
was  I  ?  Oh  !  I  have  it.  It  was  that  part  where  I  said  it  warnt 
that  Latin  was  so  heavy  to  carry,  but  that  you  have  such  a  slippery 
bold  of  it. 

"  'Now,'  sais  I,  'your  Excellency,  that  reminds  me  of  a  trick  I 
p  ayed  a  feller  ouct  to  Truro,  in  Nova  Scntia.  There  was  to  be  a 
great  temperance  meetin',  and  a  lectar,  and  resolutions  moved,  and 
what  not.  Well,  there  was  a  most  consaited  goney  in  the  same 
house  (tho*  that's  nothin'  very  strange  neither,  scein'  Blue-nose  is 
naterally  a  consaited  critter),  and  as  he  was  to  second  the  tir^t  reso- 
lution, had  spent  evenin'  arter  even  in*  in  writin'  of  his  speech,  and 


M 


STEALING    A    SPEECH. 


Ill 


'flioniin'  arter  mornin*  in  gettin'  it  by  heart.  Well,  the  day  t!ia 
great  mectin'  was  to  be,  off  he  starts  down  to  the  lower  village,  with 
a  two-horse  waggon,  to  bring  some  of  the  young  ladies  to  hear  his 
eloquence.  "Well,  as  soon  as  I  seed  him  off,  I  goes  to  his  desk,  takes 
his  speech,  locks  the  door,  and  walks  up  and  down  the  room,  a 
readin'  of  it  o/er  and  over,  like  a  school-lesson,  and  in  about  two  cr 
three  hours  had  it  all  by  heart;  and  that,  that  I  coi  'dn't  repeat 
verbatim,  havin'  a  pretty  loose  tongue  of  my  own,  I  could  give  the 
sense  and  meanin'  of.  But  I  had  it  in  a  manner  all  pretty  slick. 
Then  I  puts  the  speech  back  in  its  place,  takes  a  walk  out  into  the 
fields,  to  recite  it  aloud,  where  none  could  hear,  and  T  succeeded 
most  beautiful.  He  returned,  as  I  intended  he  should,  before  I 
went  back  to  the  house ;  and  when  I  went  into  the  room,  he  wag 
walkiu'  up  and  down,  a  rautterin'  over  his  speech;  and  when  be 
stuck,  lookin*  at  the  writin'. 

"  '  Hullo,'  sais  I,  '  are  you  back  already  ?  How's  the  ladies,  and 
where  are  they  ?'  » 

"  ^  Hush  !'  said  he.  'Don't  talk  to  me,  that's  a  good  feller;  it 
puts  me  out,  and  then  I  have  to  cipher  it  over  again.  The  ladies 
are  below.' 

" '  Well,'  sais  I,  '  I'll  go  down  and  see  them ;'  and,  to  make  a 
long  story  short,  the  meetin'  was  organised,  the  lecture  was  read,  and 
the  first  resolution  was  moved.  I  mind  that  it  was  a  very  sensible 
one,  and  passed  unanimously,  I  don't  exactly  recollect  the  words, 
but  its  substance — 'llesolvcd,  That  it  is  the  opinion  of  this  meeting, 
that  those  who  drink  nothin'  but  water,  will  have  no  liquor  to  buy.' 
I  rose  to  second  it;  and  there  was  great  cheerin',  and  clappin'  of 
hands,  and  stampin'  of  feet;  for  I  was  considerable  popular  amorg 
the  folks  in  them  diggins.  At  last,  silence  was  obtained;  and  I 
commenced  with  Horatio  Mulgrave's  speech,  and  delivered  it  woi^ 
for  word.  Well,  it  warn't  a  bad  speech  for  the  time  and  place 
Considerable  flowery  —  mixed  with  poetr}'  to  please  the  galls,  and 
Bol^mncolly  and  tearful  for  the  old  folk ;  sometimes  they  cheered, 
and  then  they  cried.  Arter  I  had  got  on  a  piece,  Mulgrave  sprang 
up,  half  distracted  with  rage  and  surprise ;  and  takin'  hold  of  me  by 
the  coat,  '  Why,  confound  it,  Slick,'  sais  he,  '  that's  my  speech.  I 
wrote  it  myself.' 

"  '  Pooh  !'  sais  I,  '  don't  be  foolish.' 

"  *  Well,  I  never,'  said  he,  '  in  all  my  born  days  !  This  beats  tUo 
dev'        What  a  Yankee  trick  !' 

'fl  said  this  quite  loud.     So  I  stopped  short,  and  paused,  and 
look^  i    ound. 

"  'Gentlemen  and  ladies,'  sais  I,  'Mr.  Mulgrave  sals  T  am  speakin' 
his  mind,  and  not  my  own ;  and  that  it  is  his  oration,  and  not  mine, 
[t's  strange  our  minds  should  be  so  much  alike ;  for  if  it  is  actilly 
the  case,  I  must  be  makin'  a  very  poor  speech,  1  can  tell  you.  So^ 
with  your  leave,  I'll  sit  down.' 


ftVERYTniNQ    IN    GENERAL,    ETC. 


87 


11,  the  day  tho 
v^cr  village,  with 
dies  to  hear  his 
»  his  desk,  takes 
vn  the  room,  a 
in  about  two  cr 
coi  Idn't  repeat 
'.  could  give  the 
all  pretty  slick, 
ilk  out  into  the 
nd  T  succeeded 
hould,  before  I 
e  room,  he  was 
;  and  when  he 

the  ladies,  and 

good  feller;  it 
in.     The  ladios 

and,  to  make  a 

•e  was  read,  and 

I  a  very  sensible 

ilect  the  words, 

)f  this  meeting, 

iquor  to  buy.' 

ind  clappin'  of 

Dopular  amorg 

)tained;  and  I 

ivered  it  woi^ 

no   and   place 

the  galls,  and 

they  cheered, 

ilgrave  sprang 

hold  of  me  by 

my  speech.     X 


" '  No,  no,'  sais  they ;  *  go  on,  go  on.' 

♦'Well,  I  went  on,  and  finished;  and  when  I  had  done,  I  turned 
round,  and  said  out  loud  to  him,  '  Now,  Sir,  you  say  I  have  spoke 
your  niiod  ?' 

'< '  So  you  have,'  sais  he.     'It's  a  trick — a  cursed  Yankee  trick!' 

"  I  come  pretty  near  increasin'  the  size  of  the  critter's  head  for 
that,  but  I  bit  in,  Sais  I,  '  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  is  that  fair  to  a 
stranger  like  me,  that  could  positively  chaw  him  up,  only  he  don't 
like  the  taste  of  the  coon  V 

"  '  No,  no,'  sais  they,  '  it  aint  fair.' 

"■  'Well,'  sais  I,  'I'll  tell  you  what  is  fair,  and  that  is  turn  and 
turn  about.  You  say  I  spoke  your  mind,  Sir ;  now  do  you  speak 
mine,  when  you  move  the  next  resolution ;  and  see  if  it  won't  be 
the  best  speech  you  ever  made  since  you  was  born.*  Creation,  how 
folks  larfcd !  '  Now,'  sais  I,  amovin'  off,  and  settin'  down,  '  take  the 
floor.' 

"Well,  he  got  up,  and  scratched  his  head  —  'Ladies  and  Gentle- 
men,' sais  he,  'ahem!  that  speech  is  my  speech;  I  made  it;  and 
this  is  a  trick ;'  and  down  he  sot. 

"  Well,  I  jumped  up,  and  sais  I,  'If  his  mouth  has  been  picked 
of  his  speech,  a  thing  I  never  heard  tell  on  before,  it  aint  been 
picked  of  his  tongue,  for  that's  safe  and  sound ;  but  I'll  move  the 
resolution  for  him,  so  as  to  keep  things  astirrin';'  and  then  I  give 
them  one  of  my  ramblin',  funny  sort  of  s|)eeches,  with  capital  stories, 
that  iUustrated  everything  but  the  resolution;  and  it  was  received 
with  immense  applause.  Mulgravc  was  only  on  a  visit  to  Truro,  so 
nest  day  he  returned  to  Halifax ;  and  to  this  time,  nobody  under- 
stands a  word  about  the  story.'  " 

"Well,  I  never  heard  that  anecdote  before,"  said  Uncle  Sara, 
risin'.  "Take  another  glass  of  wine.  I  have  heard  of  plagiarisms 
on  all  sorts  of  scales,  from  purloining  a  quotation,  as  the  'great  mili- 
tary critic'  did,  and  borrowing  ideas,  down  to  using  printed  sermons, 
as  many  clergymen  do ;  but  this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  of 
*stealinc/  a  speech!'  " 


This  beats  the 

d  paused,  and 

T  am  speak  in' 

and  not  mine. 

if  it  is  actilly 

Ttell  you.     So, 


CHAPTER  III. 
EVERYTHING  IN  GENERAL,  AND  NOTHING  IN  PARTICULAll. 

"  President,"  sais  I,  "  I  am  afraid  I  am  takin'  up  too  much  of 
fonv  valu;ible  time,  and  really  I  don't  want  to  bore  you." 

"  Bore  me !  pray  don't  say  that,"  said  he,  "  I  like  to  hear  you 
amazingly;  it's  better  than  a  printed  book,  for  I  can  ask  questiona 


I 


ii 


EVERYTHING    IN    ORNERAL, 

as  you  go  along,  and  join  in  the  chat  with  observations  of  my  own, 
which  can't  be  done  t'other  way." 

Thinks  I  to  myself,  that's  just  the  disagreeable  part  of  it,  for 
interruptions  spile  all;  but  when  a  feller  has  just  given  me  a  snug 
travellin'  job  onasked,  and  done  the  handsome  thing,  it  aint  any 
great  return  arter  all,  to  let  him  put  his  oar  in  sometimes,  even  if  he 
does  catch  crabs  now  and  then,  as  the  sailors  say,  and  half  cover  you 
with  spray. 

"  Exactly,"  sais  I.  "  I  count  it  a  great  profit  to  have  the  benefit 
of  your  remarks;  for  a  man  don't  rise  to  the  tip-top  of  the  truck- 
head  of  the  mast  of  the  ship  of  state  as  you  have,  President,  without 
onderstandin'  the  ropes,  that's  a  fact.  For  the  statesman's  ship  is 
diiferent  from  the  merchant's  ship  in  this;  you  can't  jump  in  at  the 
cabin-window  in  one,  as  you  can  if  you  are  the  owner's  son  in  the 
other,  but  must  begin  before  the  mast  in  a  regular  way,  for  then  you 
know  what  every  hand's  work  and  duty  is,  and  how  to  keep  'em 
at  it." 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  that,  Mr.  Slick,''  said  he.  "  1 
sarved  my  time  to  larn  politics,  first  to  town  mectins,  which  I  call  the 
statesman's  nursery,  then  at  corporations  and  mass  meetins;  arter- 
wards  in  state  legislatures  and  conventions,  and  wound  up  for  the 
finishin'  touch  in  Congress,  besides  larnin'  the  word  of  command  in 
volunteer  companies,  and  sarviu'  a  campaign  agin  the  Florida  Indgians. 
Heroes  are  at  a  premium,  and  sages  at  a  discount  with  us.  Throwin' 
others  in  the  shade  makes  one  stand  out  the  prominent  figure  him- 
self, as  Artimus  Wheelock,  the  great  Americon  painter,  used  to  say. 
I  think  you  understand  that  beautiful  figure  of  speech,  Mr.  Slick,  for 
if  I  don't  disremeraber,  you  are  a  dub  at  paiutin'  in  iles  yourself, 
aint  you  ?" 

"  Rather  a  daub,"  sais  I,  with  some  pretended  diffidence,  for  that 
is  a  subject  I  rather  pride  myself  on. 

"  You  are  too  modest,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  he,  quite  patronizin'  like : 
"  you  hide  your  light." 

Modest,  sais  I  to  myself;  c  me  that  aint  bad.  If  I  aint  hanged 
till  that  charge  is  proved,  I  guess  my  neck  is  safe  from  a  rope,  at  any 
rate.  Modest !  Oh,  Lord !  and  I  thought  I  should  have  haw-hawed 
right  out. 

"  Well,  President,"  sais  I,  "  I  ought  to  be  a  modest  man,  that's  a 
fact;  for  I've  had  some  highsts  in  my  day,  when  goin'  too  confident 
on  slippery  ground,  that  was  enough  to  shake  the  consait  out  of  any 
man,  I  caa  tell  you.  Oh,  what  a  rise  the  great  Daniel  Webster  took 
out  of  me  onct.  He  sold  me,  that's  a  fact,  and  almost  sent  me  down 
south  like  a  nigger.  I  felt  streaked  enough,  you  may  depend.  It 
is  a  caution  to  sinners,  I  do  assure  you,  and  may  be  a  Wdrnin'  to 
others." 

"Slick,"  said  President,  "Danel  was  a  man  that  c^ld  beat  ui 


AND    NOTHING    IN    PARTICULAR. 


d9 


mizin'  like ; 


Wdrnin  to 


both  down  in  market,  so  he  could  buy  us  at  hia  own  price,  and  then 
puff  us  off,  so  that  he  could  sell  us  ut  our  own  valiation,  and  make  a 
handsome  spcckelutioiv  of  it.  And  yet,  great  as  he  was,  somehow  or 
another  he  never  could  mount  the  box  of  the  state-coach  and  get 
bold  of  the  ribbans,  as  I  have:  nohow  he  could  fix  it;"  and  he 
fitreiglitened  himself  up,  while  he  swallowed  down  the  juice  of  that 
bit  of  brag.  "  But  let's  hear  about  Lord  Horton  aud  the  great 
Danel." 

"Well,"  sais  I,  "I  kept  my  appointment  with  Horton,  and  as 
luck  would  have  it,  we  arrived  at  the  street-door  just  at  the  same 
time. 

"  <  Why,  Mr.  Slick,'  sais  he,  'what  a  punctual  man  you  be!* 

" '  Punctuality,*  sais  I,  *  my  lord,  is  the  soul  of  business.  There 
is  an  old  sayin',  *  Take  care  of  the  pence,  and  the  pounds  will  take 
care  of  themselves.*  Now  take  care  of  the  minutes,'  sais  I,  '  and 
the  hours  will  take  care  of  themselves.  Pounds  is  made  up  of  pence, 
>nd  hours  of  minutes.  Attention  to  one  aims  money  for  me,  and 
)be  other  saves  it.  These  two  rules  will  make  any  man  rich  j  and  in 
^act,  my  lord,  they  have  made  me  considerable  well  to  do  in  this 
tyrorld,  as  times  go.* 

"  English  folks.  President,  aint  like  ourn,  they  rather  like  to  see  you 
hot  forget  what  you  be,  or  what  you  have  been.  Peel  used  to  mind  them 
now  and  then  in  his  speeches  of  the  spinnin'-jenney,  and  it  always 
took  well.  I  consait  myself  it  was  a  little  bit  of  brag,  but  it  an- 
swered his  purpose  any  way,  and  was  popular. 

" '  I  am  a  clockmaker,'  sais  I,  '  my  lord,  and  I  ought  to  know  the 
valey  of  time.  If  I  hadn't  the  right  beat  myself  it  would  soon  be 
all  day  with  me.  The  half  hours  that's  lost  a  whitlin',  a  smokin*, 
and  a  loUin'  about  with  your  chair  tilted  back  on  its  hind  legs,  and 
your  feet  over  the  back  of  another,  lookin'  out  of  the  winder  at 
nothin',  and  a  twirlin'  your  thumbs  while  your  awaitin'  for  breakfast  or 
dinner,  or  what  not,  would  larn  a  man  a  language,  or  a  trade.  But 
what  in  natur's  the  use  of  my  talkin*  this  way  to  you  ?  You  mind 
an  appointment,  because  it  aint  perlite  to  keep  folks  awaitin';  but 
what  is  time  to  you  ?  You  was  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  one  hand, 
and  a  silver  fork  in  the  other,  and  can  jist  spend  your  time  as  you 
like.  You  must  excuse  me  a  talkin*  such  nonsense,  but  the  fact  is, 
I  have  acquired  a  habit,  as  I  travelled  thro'  Nova  Scotia,  of  tryin'  to 
preach  a  little  go-ahead  into  those  everlastin'  sleepy  Blue-noses,  that 
I  forget  sometimes,  and  treat  other  folks,  that  don't  want  'em,  to  some 
of  my  old  saws.' 

"  '  Wise  saios  call  them,  Mr.  Slick,*  said  he;  '  I  like  to  hear  them 
amazin'ly;  I  like  plain,  practical  truths,  uttered  in  a  plain,  familiar 
way;  they  appeal  to  men's  common  sense.' 

"And  he  went  on  and  praised  my  looks  'n  a  way  that  aint  no 
matter;  I  kinder  felt  it  waa  a  little  overdone,  and  for  a  man  of  my 


\. 


«0 


EVERYTHING    IN    GENHRAL, 


M 


11 


!'!1: 


1,       *»•* 


consait  to  tbmk  so,  is  sayin*  a  good  deal.  So  I  won't  put  it  down, 
or  folks  might  think  I  was  makin'  out  my  own  appraisement.  '  Well, 
well,'  sais  I  to  myself,  '  there's  all  sorts  of  ways  of  soft  sawderin', 
too,  aint  there  ?  He  is  a  politician,  and  if  he  don't  know  how  to  lay 
it  on,  it's  a  pity.  He  intends  his  whitewash  shall  stick,  for  ho  has 
mixed  a  little  refined  sugar  and  glue  with  it.' 

*•  'But  you  are  mistaken,'  sais  he,  'about  my  having  ray  time  at 
ray  command.  IL'i/h  stations  have  high  duties.  Much  is  required 
of  therHf  to  whom  much  is  f/iven.  Lordly  castles  are  besieged  or  be- 
trayed, while  the  wooden  latch  of  'poverty  secures  the  lowly  cottage. 
The  sleepless,  anxious  pilloio  is  stuffed  with  down,  tvhile  the  straw 
pcdlet  is  blessed  tcith  sound  sleep.  My  hours  of  toil  are  more,  and 
my  labours  harder,  than  those  of  my  hinds.  It  is  the  price  we  pay 
for  wealth,  and  the  tax  levied  on  rank.*  *' 

"  Slick,"  sais  the  President,  •'  them's  noble  sentimentc ;  I  appro- 
bate and  concur  them  with  all  my  heart.  Was  they  all  bunkum,  or 
genuine,  do  you  suppose  ?" 

"The  real  genuine  article,"  sais  I;  "if  they  hadn't  a  been,  I 
wouldn't  a  taken  the  trouble  to  listen  to  him." 

"  Well,"  sais  he,  "  they  are  elevated  sentiments  them,  but  they 
are  just  also.  I  feel  myself  Providence  has  reposed  in  me  a  high 
and  responsible  trust,  in  guidin',  governin',  advancin*,  restrainin', 
and  happyfyin'  this  great  nation." 

Pooh !  sais  I  to  myself,  don't  be  silly,  for  he  was  agoin'  to  make 
me  blush  for  him,  and  a  blush  is  a  thing  that  has  not  improved  my 
looks  for  years. 

"  Yes,"  sais  I,  "it  makes  one  tremble  to  think  of  it,"  and  I  went 
right  on. 

" '  Yes,'  said  Lord  Horton,  '  the  public  have  a  claim  upon  rae  for 
ay  services.' 

" '  Well,'  sais  I,  *  I  heard  you  settle  one  of  the  claims  on  you  last 
night  to  the  House,  and  I  rather  guess,'  sais  I,  '  that  somebody  that 
you  was  a  dressin'  of,  that  shall  be  nameless,  feels  like  a  boy  that's 
histed  on  another  lad's  back,  and  that's  a  gittin'  the  cow-hide  hot 
and  heavy.  It  was  a  capital  speech  that,  a  real  fust  chop  article.' 
Thinks  I,  you  patted  me  on  the  back  jist  now  about  my  looks,  and 
I'll  rub  you  down  with  the  grain  a  little  about  your  speech.  But  he 
didn't  seem  to  mind  it;  either  he  was  used  to  praise,  and  kinder 
tired  of  it,  or  else  he  knew  it  was  all  true  as  well  as  me,  or  wanted 
to  talk  of  something  not  so  parsonal.  I  saw  it  was  no  go,  for  I  can 
read  a  man  as  plain  as  a  book.  Tradin'  about  as  I  have  been  all  my 
life,  has  made  me  study  faces,  the  eye,  the  smile,  the  corner  of  the 
mouth,  tiie  little  swelling  out  of  the  nostril,  and  the  expressions  that 
pass  over  the  countenance,  like  lights  and  shades,  when  scatterin' 
clouds  are  flyin'  over  in  a  bright  sunny  sky.  It's  a  fine  study,  and 
I  must  say  I  delight  in  it. 


m 


AND     NOTUING    IN     PARTICULAR. 


Al 


*<He  merely  said,  careless  like,  'I  am  glad  you  liked  it;  when  I 
am  excited  I  can  speak  well  enough,  I  suppose ;  but  when  not,  I 

jail  acquit  myself  us  poorly  as  anybody.' 

" '  Exactly,'  sais  I,  '  that's  what  the  great  Danel  Webster  once 
said  to  me.  Squire,  aais  I,  once  arter  he  had  made  one  of  his  al- 
mighty speeches  to  the  Supreme  Court  to  Washington,  Squire,  saia 
I,  <  that  was  splendid  I  I  folt  prouder  of  New  England,'  said  I, 
*  this  blessed  day,  than  ever  I  felt  afore  since  I  was  raised.' 

"  <  Well,  I  reckon  it  warn't  bad,'  said  he,  'that's  a  fact.  Truth 
I's,  as  you  arn't  a  lawyer,  I'll  tell  you  the  secret  of  my  success  at 
the  bar.  I  require  a  good  swinging  foe,  and  won't  work  without  it. 
I  won't  look  at  a  client's  face  till  I  sco  his  hand.  When  that  affair 
is  settled  to  my  satisfaction,  then  I'll  hear  his  story.  A  (food  horse 
that  works  hard,  requires  a  large  measure  of  corn.  When  I  have 
got  my  feed,  I  make  niyself  master  of  the  subject  in  all  its  bearings, 
pro  and  con,  and  then  go  at  in  rale  right  down  airnest.  Whatever 
is  worth  doing  at  all,  is  worth  doing  well.  But,  Sam,  it  aint  no 
easy  matter  arguin'  law  before  them  are  old  judges.  It  must  be  all 
to  the  point,  clear,  logical,  connected,  and  ably  supported  by  well- 
selected  cases.  You  mustn't  wander  away,  and  you  must'nt  declaim  j 
if  you  do,  their  attention  is  off,  the  public  see  it,  and  you  are  up  a 
tree.  Now  that's  not  the  case  in  Congress  j  the  less  you  speak  to 
the  point  there,  the  better,  and  the  less  you  arc  trammelled  and  ham- 
pered in  life  arterwards.  A  few  forcible  passages  throwed  in  for 
people  to  get  by  heart,  and  admire  as  scraps  of  eloquence,  a  strong 
patriotic  flourish  now  and  then  about  keepin'  all  the  nations  of  the 
airth  iu  ordor,  and  so  on,  a  flash  or  two  to  light  up  the  dulness,  and 
a  peal  of  thunder  to  eond  with,  is  all  that's  wanted.  But  extempore 
preaching  is  the  easiest  kind  of  all  speakin'.  Preachers  have  so 
many  sermons  in  their  head,  upon  all  sorts  of  subjects,  that  if  they 
lose  the  thread  of  their  discourse,  they  can  catch  that  of  another  old 
sarmou  on  some  other  text,  tic  it  on  to  it,  and  go  on,  and  nobody  is 
iny  the  wiser,  for  they  have  it  all  their  own  way,  and  there  is  no 
me  to  follow  them  and  teli  them  of  it,  as  in  Court  and  Congress. 
They  have  got  the  close,  as  we  say  in  law,  all  to  themselves.  But, 
Sam,'  said  he,  and  he  looked  all  round  to  see  no  one  heerd  him,  '  I 
am  agoin'  to  win  that  case.' 

" '  How  are  you  sartified  of  that?"  sais  I,  'seein'  that  the  judges 
never  said  a  word.' 

"  '  Well,'  sais  he,  '  come  in  here  to  the  hotel  and  let's  liquor,  for 
I  am  nation  dry.  I  have  let  so  much  steam  off,  the  biler  wants  re- 
plenishin'.' 

"  Weil,  arter  he  had  swallowed  the  matter  of  a  pint  of  champaine, 
sais  he,  '  I'll  tell  you.  I  believe,'  sais  he,  '  there  is  a  road  to  every 
createa  critter,  if  you  could  oalj  find  it  out.' 

" '  I  am  sartain  of  .it,*  .sais  I,  '  fpr  I  have  studied  hwpian  natur* 


Is.  I 


43 


EVERYTHING     IN     OF.  NEKA/., 


HI 


i   I 


m 


all  my  life.*  And  I  was  actilly  fo61  enough  to  take  the  lead  in  th^ 
conversation  myself,  for  which  he  paid  mo  off  arterwurds  rail  hand< 
gome.  'There  is  the  sugar-plumb/  sais  I,  'and  whistle  for  the 
child,  the  feather  to  tickle  the  vanity  of  a  woman,  and  the  soft-sawder 
brush  for  the  men,  and  arter  all  they  are  the  vainest  of  the  two. 
There  is  a  private  aprimj  to  everyone' h  affection;  if  i/ou  can  find 
iha<  and  tatich  it,  the  door  willfli/  open,  tho  it  was  a  miser's  heart. 
It  requires  great  skill,  great  sleight  of  hand,  and  long  experience. 
Now,  one  thing  I  have  observed  about  soft-sawder  for  men.  Never 
flatter  a  man  for  what  he  excels  in,  for  ho  knows  that  as  well  as  you ; 
but  flatter  him  for  something  he  wishes  to  be  thought  expert  in,  that 
be  can't  do  well.' 

"'How  very  true  I'  said  Lord  Horton,  a  interruptin'  of  me. 
'  Old  Cupid  is  more  ambitious  to  bo  thought  irresistable  by  women— 
which  he  is  not — than  a  great  statesman  and  diplomatist — which  ho 
certainly  is.  You  have  a  wonderful  knowledge  of  human  natur,  Mr. 
Slick.' 

" '  I  couldn't  do  without  it,  my  Lord.  To  handle  a  ship,  you 
must  know  all  the  ropes.' 

"  Well,  where  was  I  ?  Oh  !  in  the  little  back  private  room  of  the 
great  hotel  to  Washington,  a  drinkin'  and  a  talkin'  with  Danel  Web- 
ster. 'Now,'  sais  T,  'Squire  Danel,  there  are  two  kinds  of  soft- 
sawder;  one  is  active,  and  one  is  passive.' 

'' '  How  ?'  sais  he. 

(( ( Why,'  sais  I,  '  here  is  a  case  in  pint  of  the  active.  We  had 
to  our  house  a  female  help;  she  was  an  Irish  gull,  and  ugly  enough 
to  frighten  children  from  crying,  and  turn  the  milk  of  a  whole 
dairy.  Well,  she  warnt  very  tidy,  and  mother  spoke  to  her  several 
times  about  it;  but  it  did  no  good,  she  was  as  slatternly  as  ever  next 
day,  and  mother  was  goin'  to  give  her  a  walkin'  ticket.  So,  thinks 
I  to  myself,  I  wonder  if  there  is  a  created  critter  so  ugly  as  not  to 
think  herself  decent-looking  at  any  rate.  Well,  sais  1,  Nora,  I  am 
surprised  at  you.' 

" '  What  for,  your  honour.  Master  Sam  ?'  said  she. 

"  '  Why,'  sais  I,  '  I  am  surprised  that  such  a  nice,  fresh,  healthy, 
good-lookin'  girl  as  you  be,  don't  take  better  care  of  your  appear- 
ance.' I  saw  her  eyes  twinkle  agin  with  pleasure.  'Not,'  sais  I, 
'that  your  good  looks  wants  settin'  off,  but  they  ought  to  have  jus- 
tice done  to  them.  I  hate  to  see  so  handsoujc  a  gall  looking  oo 
ontidy.' 

" '  I  own  it's  wrong,'  said  she,  '  and  it  shan't  happen  agin,'  and 
from  that  day  forth,  she  was  the  tidiest  and  smartest  gall  we  ever 
had. 

" '  That  is  active  soft-sawder,  and  now  what  I  cull  passive  soft- 
sawder  is  this  —  deference.  For  instance ;  if  you  want  to  gain  a 
man,  don't  know  more  than  him :  it  humiliates  a  feller  to  be  mado 


AND    NOTHINQ    IN    PARTICULAR. 


48 


inferior  to  tho  one  he  is  a  talkin'  to.  If  he  wants  advice,  that'g 
another  thing,  give  it  to  him ;  but  don't  put  him  right  in  his  stories 
when  h3  is  adrift,  that's  niortifyin' ;  and  don't  make  any  display 
before  him  at  all.  Get  him  to  teach  you,  for  everybody  knows 
something  you  don't.  If  ho  is  a  fisherman,  set  him  a  talkin'  about 
nets  and  bait,  and  salt  and  duties,  and  so  on.  If  ho  lives  in  the 
woods,  ask  him  how  maple-sugar  is  made;  what  is  tho  best  season 
of  the  year  to  cut  timber,  so  as  to  presarve  it ;  and  if  he  don't  know 
nothin'  of  these  things,  then  set  him  to  tell  huotin'  stories  and 
legends  of  the  woods.  You  will  win  that  man's  heart ;  for  instead 
of  uppressin'  him  with  your  superiority,  you  have  made  him  feel 
that  he  is  able  to  give  a  wrinkle  to  one  that  he  is  willing  enough  to 
acknowledge  to  be  his  superior.  You  will  win  that  man  for  ever, 
for  you  have  given  him  tho  upper  seat  instead  of  the  second,  and 
made  him  feel  good  all  over. 

"  *  The  fiict  is,  when  I  went  to  travel  in  Europe  and  larnt  man- 
ners, I  found  politeness  had  a  great  deal  of  soft-sawder  in  it ;  but 
among  the  folks  you  and  I  have  to  deal  with,  you  might  take  off 
your  bat  afore,  and  scrape  your  leg  behind  to  all  etarnity,  before 
you'd  carry  your  pint.     But  I  am  only  stoppin'  your  story.' 

"  *No  you  don't,*  said  he;  *I  like  to  hear  you;  your  experience 
jumps  with  mine.  As  a  lawyer  and  a  politician,  I  have  had  to  mix 
much  among  my. fellow-men,  and  in  course  have  studied  a  good  deal 
of  human  natur'  too  —  for  lawyers  are  like  priests ;  people  c,  >me  to 
them  and  disburden  themselves  of  their  troubles,  and  get  consolation, 
if  they  pay  well  for  it;  but  there  is  one  point  in  which  they  don't 
treat  them  like  priests;  they  don't  confess  all  their  sins;  they  sup- 
press them,  and  often  get  themselves  and  their  counsel  into  a  scrape 
by  it,  that's  a  fact.  Now  I'll  tell  you  how  I  am  sure  I  am  agoin'  to 
gain  my  cause.     But  first  help  yourself,  and  then  pass  the  wine.' 

"  Well,  first  I  took  one  bottle,  and  turned  it  up  on  eend,  and 
deuce  a  drop  was  in  it. 

"  *  Try  the  other,'  sais  he. 

"And  I  turned  that  upside  down,  and  it  was  empty  too.  Our 
eyes  met,  and  he  smiled.  Sais  he,  *  I  was  illustratin'  your  pswsive 
soft-sawder;  I  didn't  remind  you  that  you  was  wrong,  when  you 
didn't  drink.  As  you  advised,  I  didn't  oppress  you  with  my  supe- 
riority ;  but  I  set  you  oft'  talkin'  about  human  uatur',  of  which  I 
guess  I  know  perhaps  as  much  as  you  do.  I  knew  I  have  won  you 
for  ever  by  that  delicate  attention.  I  think  I  am  sartin  of  the 
Slickville  vote,  for  I  gave  you  the  uppermost  seat,  and  took  the 
eecond  myself.' 

"Well,  I  couldn't  help  larfin,  I  swear.  'Squire  Danel,'  sais  I, 
*I  owe  you  one  for  that;  I  call  that  a  rail  complete  rise.  I  am 
sold."^ 


4A 


EVERYTHING     IN    QENKn* 


r  m. 


Ifk 


III 


I". 

i 

ill' 


"A  very  good  story,"  said  Ilorton.  "I  like  that,  there-  is  so  much 
dry  humour  in  it;  it's  a  very  cliur.icteristic  story  that." 

"A  feller,"  sais  I,  "my  Lord,  that  has  wrestled  through  life  as  T 
have,  must  naturally  have  got  a  good  many  falls,  and  some  pretty 
heavy  ones  too,  afore  he  larnt  the  right  grips  and  the  proper  throws, 
that's  a  fact. 

"  *  Well/  says  Danel,  '  ring  the  uell,  please }  and,'  sais  he, 
'waiter,  more  wine.  I'll  tell  you  how  I  know  I  am  going  to  win 
that  cause.  I  told  you,  Sam,  there  was  a  road  to  every  man,  if  you 
could  only  find  it.  Now,  the  road  to  a  judge  is  the  most  difficult 
one  on  earth  to  discover.  It  aint  a  road,  nor  a  bridle-way,  nor  a 
path  hardly.  It's  a  trail,  and  scarcely  that.  They  are  trained  to 
impartiality,  to  the  cold  discharge  of  duty,  and  when  on  the  bench, 
leave  their  hearts  to  home,  except  in  a  criir^'nal  case.  They  are  all 
head  in  Court;  they  are  intrenched  in  a  sort  of  thick  jungle,  so  that 
it  is  almost  impossible  tu  get  at  them.  Still,  judges  are  only  men, 
and  there  never  was  but  one  perfect  man  ia  the  world. 

" '  Did  you  mind  that  little  judge  that  sat  there  to-day,  lookin*  as 
sour  as  if  he  had  breakfasted  off  crab-apples,  sauced  with  red  pepper 
and  vinegar  ?  Well,  ho  aint  a  bad  lawyer,  and  he  aint  a  bad  man. 
But  he  is  a  most  disagreeable  judge,  and  a  most  cantankerous  chap 
altogether.  I  have  bagged  him  to-day ;  but  it  was  very  difficult  play, 
I  assure  you.  You  can't  soft-sawder  a  judge,  he  is  too  esperienced 
a  man  for  that ;  the  least  spatter  even  of  it  would  set  him  against 
you;  and  you  can't  bully  him,  for  ha  is  independent  of  you,  and  if 
he  submitted  to  such  treatment,  he  ought  to  be  impeached.  Now, 
old  sour-crout  has  decided  two  cases  on  the  branch  of  law  that  was 
under  consideration  to-day,  pretty  analogous  to  my  ease,  but  not  ex- 
actly. Well,  my  object  is  to  get  him  to  view  them  as  governin' 
mine,  for  he  is  not  always  quite  uniform  in  his  views,  but  how  to  do 
that  without  leanin'  too  strong  on  his  decisions,  was  my  difficulty. 
So  I  tcuk  a  case  that  he  had  decided  on  a  collateral  branch  of  the 
subject,  and  that  I  examined,  criticised,  and  condemned  pretty  se- 
verely. He  defended  his  ground  strongly,  at  last  I  gave  in ;  I  only 
touched  it,  for  it  warn't  pertinent  to  take  off  the  appearance  of 
throwiu'  the  lavender  to  him.  Then  I  relied  on  his  two  other  deci- 
sions; snowed  their  ability,  soundness,  and  research  off  to  great  ad- 
vantage, without  folks  knowin'  it.  -  The  jBrst  slap  I  gave  him  sounded 
so  loud,  while  people  was  sayin'  I  was  rueuin'  my  cause,  and  had 
lost  my  tact,  I  was  quietly  strokin'  down  the  fur  on  his  back,  and 
ticklin'  his  funny-rib.     Ring  the  bell,  please.     Waiter,  the  bill.' 

"Well,  hearin'  that,  I  took  out  my  purse  to  pay  ray  half  the 
Bhot. 

"  *  Don't  violate  your  own  rule,  Slick,'  sais  he,  *  of  passive  soft- 
aawder;  when  I  am  wrong  don't  set  me  right,  don't  oppress  me  by 
your  (I  won't  gay  superiority),  but  your  equality.     Let  me  be  fooJ 


AND    NOTHING    IK     PARTICULAR. 


45 


enough  to  occupy  the  first  seat,  and  do  you  take  the  second,  you  will 
win  me  for  life.' 

" '  S()|uire  Danel,*  sals  I,  '  I  am  sold  agin ;  I  believe  in  my  soul 
you  would  sell  the  devil.' 

"  *  Well,'  sais  he,  '  I  would,  if  I  could  find  a  purchaser,  that's  a 
fact ;  but  I'm  thinkin  Napoleon  and  Kossuth  would  be  the  only  two 
bidders.  The  first,  I  am  afeard,  would  confiscate  the  debt  due  me, 
and  the  other  would  pay  for  it  only  in  speeches,  take  it  out  only  in 
talk.  Now,  not  having  bought  the  devil  yet,  I  won't  spefculate  on 
him.' 

"Well,  the  bill  came  in,  and  he  paid  it;  and  when  the  waiter 
made  himself  scarce,  sais  he,  '  Mr.  Slick,  now  and  then  I  admit  a 
friend  (not  in  public  life)  to  a  talk,  and  the  interchange  of  a  glass  j 
but,'  said  he,  *  soft-sawder  here  or  there,  I  never  admit  him  to  the 
privilege  of  paying  half  the  bill.'  Just  as  he  put  his  hat  on,  and 
was  going  out  of  the  door,  he  turned,  and  sais  he,  '  Is  that  active  or 
passive  soft-sawder,  Sam  V 
" '  Neuter,'  sais  I. 

"  '  Give  me  your  hand,'  sais  he.  '  That's  not  bad ;  I  like  it,  and 
I  like  your  talk;  but  recollect,  there  are  folks  in  this  country  besides 
yourself  that  icent't  born  yesterday.^ 

"  Well,  I  was  alone :  1  lit  a  cigar,  and  threw  myself  back  in  the 
chair,  and  put  my  feet  upon  the  table,  and  considered.  '  Sara,'  saia 
I,  '  you  are  sold ;  and  you  didn't  fetch  much  either.  You  wr-e  a 
fool  to  go  to  talk  wise  afore  the  wisest  man  we  have.  You  ar3  like 
minister's  rooster :  your  comb  is  cut,  and  your  spurs  chopped  off. 
When  they  grow  agin,  try  to  prac^^fi  with  your  equals  only.  It  was 
a  great  lesson  :  it  taught  me  the  truth  of  Ae  old  sayin'  of  mother's, 
^Sam,  don^i  teach  your  grandmother  to  claj)  ashes.' 

"  *  Well,'  said  his  Lordship,  *  that  is  a  curious  story,  Mr.  Slick, 
and  an  instructive  one  too.  .  The  quiet  drollery  in  American  humour 
delights  me  beyond  measure.' 

" '  There  is  a  part  of  that  lesson  my  Lord,'  sais  I,  *  with  all  due 
deference,  you  ought  to  learn.'  He  kind  of  shook  his  head,  and 
looked  puzzled  wliat  to  say.  Sais  I,  *  I  know  what  you  mean — thai 
it's  popularity  huntin'',  and  beneath  your  station.' 

" '  Not  exactly,'  said  he,  smiling;  but  looking  as  if  a  civil  answer 
was  sent  for,  that  wouldn't  come. 

" '  Well,'  sais  T,  '  my  L'^'d,  it's  a  proof  of  knowledge  and  skill. 
Man  is  man.  and  you  must  study  the  critter  you  have  to  govern. 
You  talk  to  a  child  like  a  child,  to  a  boy  like  a  boy,  and  to  a  man 
like  a  man.  You  don't  talk  to  all  men  alike;  you  '^on't  talk  to 
Lord  John  and  your  footman  the  same,  do  you  V 
"  *  Certainly  not,'  sais  he. 

"  *  Well,  then,  you  must  know  the  world  you  have  to  govern,  and 
talk  to  folks  so  that  they  can  onderstand  you.     The  House  of  Com 


0   '~ 


46 


EVERYTHING    IN    GENERAL, 


\m 


M 


i 

■ill 


!lfiS;l! 


;iiM 


mens  aint  the  people  of  England.  That  was  the  grand  mistakt 
Peel  made :  he  thought  it  was,  and  studied  it  accordingly.  What 
was  the  consequence  ?  lu  my  opinion,  he  knew  mere  about  tho 
feelings,  temper,  tone  and  trim  of  the  representatives,  aad  less  of  tho 
represented,  than  any  person  in  the  kingdom.  That  man  did  tnon 
to  lower  the  political  character  of  the  country  than  any  statesman 
since  Walpole's  time.  lie  was  a  great  man,  I  admit;  but  unfor- 
tunately, a  great  man's  blunders  are  like  accidents  in  powder-maga- 
eines — send  everything  to  the  devil  amost.  There  is  a  sliding  scale 
in  men's  reputations  now :  he  not  only  invented  it,  but  taught  them 
how  to  regulate  it  according  to  the  market.  But  let  byegones  be 
byegoucs.  What  can't  be  cured,  must  be  endured.  To  return  to 
where  I  was,  I  say  agin,  the  House  of  Commons  aint  th  3  people  of 
England.' 

"'Very  true,'  said  his  Lordship. 

"  *  Well,'  sais  I,  '  since  the  Reform  Bill,  that  House  don't  do  you 
much  credit.  You  talk  to  the  educated  part  of  it,  the  agitators  there 
don't  talk  to  you  in  reply;  they  talk  to  the  people  outsiJe,  and  have 
a  great  advantage  over  you.  A  good  Latin  quotation  wiU  be  cheered 
by  Lord  John  Manners  and  Sir  Robert  Inglis,  and  even  Lord  John 
Russel  himself;  but  Hume  talks  about  cheap  bread,  unevarsal  suf- 
frage, vote  by  ballot,  no  sodgers,  no  men-o'-war,  no  colonics,  no  taxes, 
and  no  nothin'.  Well,  while  you  are  cheered  by  half-a-dozen  scho- 
lars in  the  House,  he  is  cheered  by  millions  outside.' 

"  '  There  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  that  observation,  Mr.  Slick  * 
said  he;  *  it  never  struck  mo  in  that  light  before  —  I  see  it  now  ; 
and  he  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room.  '  That  accounts  foi 
O'Connell's  success.'       • 

" '  Exactly,'  sais  L  '  He  didn't  ask  you  for  justice  to  Ireland, 
expecting  to  convince  you ;  for  he  knew  he  had  more  than  justice  to 
Ireland,  while  England  got  no  justice  there;  nor  did  he  applaud  the 
L'ish  for  your  admiration,  but  that  they  might  admire  him  and  them- 
selves, liis  speeches  were  made  m  the  House,  but  not  addressed  to 
it;  they  were  delivered  for  the  edification  of  his  countrymen.  Now, 
though  you  won't  condescend  to  what  I  call  wisdom,  but  what  you 
call  *  popularity  huntin'  and  soft  sawder,'  there's  your  equals  in  that 
House  that  do.' 

"<Who?'  sais  he. 

"  '  Dear  me,'  sais  I,  '  my  lord,  it  is  two  o'clock.  Uncle  Sam  is  a 
Salem  man,  where  the  curfew  bell  rings  for  bed  at  nine  o'clock.  I 
shall  be  locked  out,  I  must  bid  ycu  good  night.' 

" '  Oh  !"  sais  ho,  '  I  axn  very  sorry,  pray  come  again  on  Friday 
evening,  if  you  can ;  we  have  lost  sight  of  the  subject  I  wanted  to 
consult  you  about,  and  instead  of  that  we  have  talked  of  everything 
in  general  and  nothing  in  particular.  If  you  can't  come  —  ('I  am 
afraid  it's  onpossible,'  sais  I,  'my  lord') — will  you  be  so  good  as  to 


AND    NOTHIKG     IN     PARTICULAR. 


47 


let  me  hear  from  you  occasionally.  There  are  some  transatlantic 
subjects  I  should  like  amazingly  to  hear  your  opinion  upon :  write 
unreservedly,  and  write  as  you  talk,  your  letters  shall  be  strictly 
confidential.' 

"'I  shall  be  very  proud  of  the  honour,  my  lord,'  said  I. 

'^  He  seemed  absent  a  moment^  and  then  said,  as  if  thinking 
aloud, 

" '  I  wish  I  had  some  little  keepsake  to  present  you  with,  as  a 
token  of  my  regard ;  as  long  as  I  have  your  books  I  have  where- 
withal to  place  you  before  me  as  a  living  animated  being,  and  not 
an  abstraction.'  And  then  his  face  lit  up  as  if  he  had  found  what 
he  wanted,  and  taking  the  ring  you  see  on  my  left  hand  off  his  little 
finger,  he  presentee  it  to  me  in  a  way  somehow  that  only  those 
thoroughbred  folks  know  how  to  do. 

"But  President,"  sais  I,  "our  time  is  out  too;  and  I  must  say  1 
am  kinder  j50.;t  cf  skeered  I  have  been  talking  too  much  about  my- 
self" 

"Not  a  r,  itdid  he,  "I  actilly  think  you  are  fishin'  for  compli- 
ments, you  apologise  so.  No,  no,  I  am  sorry  it  is  so  late.  He  is  a 
fine  fellow  that  Uorton.  IJut,  Sam,  they  don't  onderstand  the  people, 
do  they?" 

"  They  don't,"  sais  I,  "  that's  a  fact.  Do  the  people  onderstand 
them  ?     Not  always,"  sais  I. 

"  'Zactly,"  saici  he,  "  when  you  have  born  senators,  you  must 
have  born  fools  sometimes." 

"  And  when  you  elect,"  said  I,  "you  sometimes  elect  a  raven  dis« 
traoted  goney  of  a  feller  too." 

"Next  door  to  it,"  said  President,  larfin',  "and  if  they  aint  quite 
fools,  they  are  entire  rogues,  that's  a  fact;  eh.  Slick  !  Well,  I  sup- 
pose each  way  has  its  n<.'n^;s  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  other. 

"But  the  President^  "  1  he  adjusted  his  collar  and  cravat,  "he 
ought  to  be  the  <;ho  c  ■"  le  people;  and  Sara  (it  was  the  first 
time  he'd  called  me  that,  v  t  I  see  he  was  warmin')  it's  a  proud,  a 
high  and  a  lofty  station  too,  aiuc  it  ?  To  be  the  elect  of  twenty-five 
millions  of  freC;  independent,  and  enlightened  white  citizens,  that 
have  three  millions  of  black  niggers  to  work  and  swet  for  'em,  while 
they  smoke  and  talk,  takes  the  rag  off  of  European  monarchs;  don't 
it  V 

"Very,"  sais  I,  risin'  to  take  le.'.ve.  "And  President,"  sais  I, 
for  as  he  seemed  detnirmined  to  s<und  .i\  the  market,  I  thought  I 
might  just  as  well  '•  ke  short  meter  of  it,  and  sell  him  at  once. 
"President,"  sais  I,  congratulate  the  nation  on  bavin'  chosen  a 
man  whose  first,  last,  and  sole  object  is  to  serve  his  coinitry,  and 
vourself  on  the  honour  of  filling  a  chair  far  above  all  the  throues. 
kingdoms,  qucendoms,  and  empires  in  the  unevarsal  world."  And 
Wij  shook  hands  and  parted. 


48 


THE    BLACK     HAWK", 


I 


I 


IBff^ 


I 


i 


CHAPTER   IV.  ^ 

THE  BLACK  HAWK;  OR,  LIFE  IN  A  FORE  AND  AFTER. 

The  next  inorniDg  I  called  on  the  President,  and  received  my 
patent  as  Commissioner  of  the  Fisheries  on  the  shores  of  the  British 
Provinces;  with  instructions  to  report  on  the  same,  and  to  afford  all 
such  protectio.n  to  the  seamen  and  vessels  of  the  United  States  aa 
occasion  might  require.  I  was  also  furnished  with  letters  mandatory 
to  all  our  own  officers,  and  introductory  to  the  governors  of  the  seve- 
ral colonies. 

Things  had  taken  an  onexpected  tu:  '  \i  me.  I  didn't  look  for 
this  appointment,  although  1  had  resolveu  m  the  trip,  as  one  of  re- 
creation and  pleasure  I  had  not  been  well,  and  consaited  I  did  not 
feel  very  smart,  I  guess  I  was  moped,  living  so  much  alone  since  I 
returned  to  Slickville,  and  was  more  in  dumps  than  in  danger.  So 
I  thought  I'd  take  a  short  trip  to  sea,  but  this  change  rendered  the 
tour  no  longer  optional,  and  it  became  necessary  to  lose  no  time,  so 
I  took  a  formal  leave  of  the  President,  and  returned  home  to  make 
preparations  for  the  voyage ;  but  before  finally  accepting  the  office, 
I  explained  to  him  I  must  take  my  own  time  and  mix  pleasure  with 
business,  for  with  the  exception  of  statistical  returns,  I  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  fisheries  and  every  harbour  on  the  coast,  and  al- 
ready knew  much  that  any  one  else  would  have  to  learn  afresh. 

lie  said  the  commission  was  a  roving  one;  that  I  might  do  as  I 
pleased,  and  go  where  and  when  I  liked,  so  long  as  the  report  was 
made,  and  was  full,  accurate,  and  suggestive. 

Leaving  my  property  in  charge  of  my  brother-in-law,  I  inquired 
for  a  trading  vessel  rather  than  a  fishing  one ;  first,  because  I  should 
have  the  opportunity  of  visiting  all  the  outports  successively;  and, 
secondly,  in  order  to  avoid  the  nuisance  of  having  the  process  of 
catching,  cleanin',  curin',  and  packin'  the  fish,  continually  goin'  on 
on  board.  Where  thcbr.-siness  is  conducted  by  a  mercantile  firm  on 
a  large  scale,  an  outward  bound  vessel  is  sometimes  loaded  with  an 
assorted  cargo  of  notions,  which  are  exchanged  on  the  coast  for  fish, 
or  sold  at  exorbitant  profits  to  the  'longshore  folks,  when  she  returns 
with  the  proceeds  of  her  own  barter  and  the  surplus  fish  of  other 
vessels  belonging  to  the  same  parties  that  are  employed,  or  rendez- 
vous at  Cape  JJreton. 

Just  at  that  time  there  was  a  most  beautiful  raki.sh  little  clipper 
of  a  fore-and-after,  fitting  out  at  the  Sound  for  the  mackerel  fishery 
on  the  coast  of  Nova  Scotia,  the  prettiest  craft  I  almost  ever  sot 


i!ll  l! 


OR,     LIFE     IN    A     FORE    AND    AFTER. 


49 


eyes  on.  Having  been  a  packet,  she  had  excellent  accommodation, 
and  was  fitted  up  with  two  cabins,  one  small  one  for  the  captain,  and 
another  for  the  mate  and  the  crew,  who  were  all  farmers'  sons, 
amounting  to  twelve  in  number,  and  messed  together.  They  sailed 
on  shares,  the  vessel  was  entitled  to  half;  the  captain  had  four,  the 
mate  three,  and  the  second  mate  two  shares,  and  ♦^he  rest  was  divided 
equally  r.mong  the  crew.  In  fact,  every  one,  according  to  this  ar- 
ravigeni'.nt,  worked  for  himself,  and  w^as  naturally  anxious  to  make 
all  he  { ould,  and  to  rival  his  neighbours,  so  as  to  see  and  to  show 
who  was  the  smartest  man.  It  is  the  best  plan  a  fishery  ever  was 
carried  on  under.  Human  natur  was  consulted,  and  gave  two  prin- 
ciples for  them  to  work  on  —  self-interest  and  amhition.  Wages 
would  have  ruined  all,  for  the  crew  would  have  put  in  their  time 
then  instead  of  their  fish,  and  their  desire  would  have  been,  like 
provincials,  to  see  who  could  do  the  least,  while  they  would  have 
spent  half  the  season  in  harbours  and  not  on  the  coast.  But  this  is 
neither  here  nor  there. 

When  I  first  went  on  board  to  examine  the  vessel,  I  was  greatly 
struck  with  the  appearance  of  the  coptin.  He  was  a  tall,  thin,  sal- 
low-lookin'  man,  having  a  very  melancholy  expression  of  'counte- 
nance. He  seemed  to  avoid  conversation,  or,  I  should  rather  say, 
to  take  no  interest  in  it.  Although  he  went  through  the  details  of 
his  duty,  like  a  man  who  understood  his  business,  his  mind  appeared 
pro-occupied  with  other  matters. 

He  was  the  last  person  I  should  have  selected  as  a  companion; 
but  as  I  didn't  want  to  go  a  fii^%iiiil!iT>>foi-  it  aint  nice  work  for  them 
that  don't  like  it  —  and  the  paf&HlM  aint  very  euticin'  to  any  but 
legular  old  skippers,  I  asked  him  to  gjye^  me  a  cast  coastwise,  as  far 
as  the  Gut  of  Canso,  where  I  would  go  ashore  for  change  of  air,  and 
amuse  myself  arter  ray  own  fashion, 

"  Have  you  had  experience.  Sir '/"  sais  he,  and  hie  fivce  lit  up  with 
a  sickly  smile,  like  the  sun  on  a  tombstone. 

"No,"  sais  I,  ''  1  never  was  on  board  a  fishin'  vessel  afore." 
He  eyed  me  all  over  attentively  for  a  minute  or  two,  without 
sayin'  a  word,  or  movin'  a  muscle.     When  he  had  finished  his  ex- 
amination, he  turned  up  the  whitea  of  his  eyes,  and  muttered  "igno- 
rant, or  impudent,  perhaps  both." 

"  I  guess  you  can  go,"  sais  he ;  "  but  mind,  Sir,  wo  start  to- 
night." 

Well,  this  warnt  very  encouragin',  was  it?  I'd  half  a  mind  to 
give  him  up,  and  go  to  Maine,  and  sarch  for  another  vessel,  for  the 
pleasure  of  your  cruise  depends  entirely  on  your  companions.  It 
aint  like  beiu'  on  land ;  there  the  world  is  big  enough  for  us  all, 
and  if  you  don't  like  the  cut  of  a  fellow's  jib,  you  can  sheer  oft",  and 
give  him  a  wide  berth ;  but  in  a  vessel  there  is  only  the  cabin  and 
the  deck,  and  the  skipper  actilly  seems  as  if  he  was  iu  both  places 


llfii" 


BO 


THE    BLACK    HAWK; 


N 


h 


11 


at  once.  And  what's  wuss,  he's  master  and  you  aint;  he  fixes  tha 
hours  for  meals,  the  time  for  lights,  chooses  his  own  subjects  for 
chat,  and  so  on. 

You  hear  a  fellow  sayin'  sometimes — I'm  only  a  passenger.  How 
little  the  critter  knows  of  what  he  is  talking,  when  he  uses  that 
cant  phrase !  V/hy,  everythiu'  is  sum-totalized  in  that  word. 
Skipper  is  employed,  and  you  aint.  It's  his  vocation,  and  not 
yourn.  It's  his  cabin,  and  no  one  else's.  He  is  to  hum,  and  you 
aint.  He  don't  want  you,  but  you  want  him.  You  aint  in  his 
way,  if  you  don't  run  like  a  dog  atween  his  legs,  and  throw  him 
down ;  but  he  is  in  your  way,  and  so  is  everybody  else. 

He  likes  salt  pork,  clear  sheer  as  he  calls  it,  and  smacks  his  lips 
over  it,  and  enjoys  his  soup,  that  has  fat  and  grease  enough  sw^immin' 
on  it  to  light  a  wick,  if  it  was  stuck  in  it;  and  cracks  hard  biscuits 
atween  his  teeth,  till  they  go  off  like  pistols;  makes  a  long  face  when 
he  says  a  long  grace,  and  swears  at  the  steward  in  the  midst  of  it; 
gets  shaved  like  a  poodle-dog,  leaving  one  part  of  the  hair  on,  and 
takin*  the  other  half  off,  lookin'  all  the  time  half-tiger,  half-lurcher, 
and  resarves  this  fancy  job  to  kill  time  of  a  Sunday.  Arter  which 
he  hums  a  hymn  through  his  nose,  to  the  tune  the  ''  Old  Cow  died 
of,"  while  he  straps  his  razor,  pulls  a  hair  out  of  his  head,  and  mows 
it  off,  to  see  if  the  blade  is  in  trim  for  next  Sabbath.  You  can't  get 
fun  out  of  him,  for  it  aint  there,  for  you  can't  get  blood  out  of  a 
Btump,  you  know ;  but  he  has  some  old  sea-saws  to  poke  at  you. 

If  you  are  squeamish,  he  offers  you  raw  fat  bacon,  advises  you  to 
keep  your  eyes  on  the  mast-head,  to  cure  you  of  dizziness,  and  so  on. 
If  the  wind  is  fair,  and  you  are  in  good  spirits,  and  say,  "  We're 
getting  on  well,  captain,"  he  looks  thunder  and  lightning  and  says, 
"  If  yoi7  ■;  ink  so,  don't  say  so.  Broadcloth,'  it  aint  lucky."  And  if 
it  blows  like  great  guns,  and  is  ahead,  and  you  say,  "  It's  unfortu- 
nate, aint  it?"  he  turns  short  round  on  you  and  says,  in  a  riprorioua 
voice,  "  Do  you  think  I'm  a  clerk  of  the  wcathei,  '"ir  ?  If  you  do, 
you  are  most  particularly,  essentially,  and  cojifounatJly  mistaken, 
that's  all."  If  you  voted  for  him,  perhaps  you  have  interest  with 
him;  if  so,  tell  him  "The  storm  staysail  is  split  to  ribbons,  and 
you'll  trouble  him  for  another;"  and  then  he  takes  off  his  norwester, 
strikes  it  agin  the  binnacle  io  knock  the  rain  off,  and  gig-gogglcs  like 
a  great  big  turkey-cock. 

If  you  are  writin'  in  the  cabin,  he  says,  "  By  your  leave,"  and 
without  your  leavC;  whops  down  a  great  yaller  chart  on  the  table,  all 
over  your  papers,  unrolls  it,  and  sticks  the  corners  down  with  forks, 
gets  out  his  conipasses,  nnd  works  his  mouth  accordiu'  to  its  legs. 
If  he  stretches  out  its  prongs,  out  go  the  corners  of  his  mouth  pro- 
portionally; if  he  half  closes  them,  ho  contracts  his  ugly  mug  to  the 
same  size ;  and  if  he  shuts  them  up,  he  pusses  up  his  lips,  and  closes 
his  clam-shell  too.     They  have  a  sympathy,  them  two,  and  work 


OR,   LIFE    IN     A    FORE    AND    AFTER 


51 


together,  and  they  look  alike,  too,  for  one  is  brown  with  tobacco,  and 
the  other  with  rust. 

The  way  he  writes  up  the  log  then  is  cautionary.  The  cabin  aint 
big  enough  for  the  operation,  out  go  both  legs,  one  to  each  side  of 
the  vessel ;  the  right  arm  is  brought  up  scientific  like,  in  a  semi- 
circular sweep,  and  the  pen  fixed  on  the  paper  solid,  like  a  gate-post  j 
the  face  and  mouth  is  then  all  drawed  over  to  the  left  side  to  be  out 
of  the  way,  and  look  knowing,  the  head  throwed  a  one  side,  one  eye 
half  closed,  and  the  other  wide  open,  to  get  the  right  angles  of  the 
letters,  and  see  they  don't  foul  their  cables,  or  run  athwart  each  other. 

It  is  the  most  difficult  piece  of  business  a  skipper  has  to  do  on 
board,  and  he  always  thinks  when  it's  done  it  deserves  a  glass  of 
rum,  and  such  rum  too — phew  ! — you  can  smell  it  clear  away  to  the 
forecastle  amost.  Then  comes  a  long-drawn  breath,  that  has  been 
pent  in  all  the  time.  This  is  going  on  till  the  dangerous  pen-naviga- 
tion was  over  j  and  then  a  pious  sort  o'  look  comes  over  his  face,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Thank  fortin'  that  job  is  over  for  to-day !  It's 
hard  work  that."  So  he  takes  a  chair,  puts  one  leg  of  it  on  the  toe 
of  his  boot,  claps  his  other  foot  agin  its  heel,  and  hauls  his  boot  oflf; 
and  so  with  the  other,  and  then  turns  in  and  snores  like  an  old  buffalo. 
When  a  feller  like  that  banks  up,  it's  generally  for  all  day,  that's  a 
fact. 

Oh  yes,  there's  no  fun  in  sailing  with  a  stupid  skipper  like  that; 
the  pair  of  you  look  like  a  sheep  and  a  pig  in  a  pasture,  one  is  clean, 
and  the  other  is  dirty ;  one  eats  dainty,  and  the  other  is  a  coarse 
feeder,  swallows  anything ;  one  likes  dry  places,  the  other  enjoys  soft 
mud  and  dirty  water.  They  keep  out  of  each  other's  way,  and  never 
make  no  acquaintance,  and  yet  one  is  a  sociable  creature,  and  likes 
to  keep  company  with  the  cow  or  the  horse,  or  anything  that  is 
decent^  while  the  other  skipper  like  does  nothin'  but  feed,  sleep  and 
grunt.     Man  was  made  for  talk,  and  can't  live  alone  that  way. 

Skippers  though  aint  all  cast  in  the  same  mould,  some  of  *em  are 
chock  full  of  information,  and  have  sailed  everywhere  a'raost,  and 
can  spin  you  a  yarn  by  the  hour ;  but  this  fellow  was  as  dumb  as  a 
clock  that's  run  down,  or  if  wound  up  has  the  main  spring  broke. 
However  I  thought  he  would  serve  my  turn  as  far  as  Shelburne, 
where  I  could  make  an  exchange  and  shift  into  some  other  craft;  or 
visit  the  harbours  as  I  used  to  do  in  old  times  in  a  waggon  instead 
of  a  vessel.  So  I  hurried  home,  packed  up  my  duds,  and  got  on 
board. 

The  more  I  saw  of  the  skipper  the  less  I  liked  him.  Whether 
he  was  really  pious  or  his  nervous  system  had  been  shaken  by  ranters 
I  could  not  tell.  Some  folks  fancy  they  are  ill,  and  some  that  they 
are  religious,  and  as  both  put  on  a  colicky  face  it  aint  always  easy  to 
say  which  is  which.  It  t^as  evident  he  was  a  gloomy  enthusiast  who 
would  rather  die  than  laugh,  and  the  unfittest  messmate  iri  the  world 


62 


I 


i'  Hi' 


THE    BLACK     HAWKJ 


for  one  who  would  rather  die  than  shed  tears.  There  was  one  com- 
fort though,  we  warnt  to  be  together  long,  and  there  were  other  folks 
on  board  besides  him.     So  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  ahead. 

The  sea  air  refreshed  me  at  once,  and  I  felt  like  a  new  man  Tho 
*' Black  Hawk,"  for  that  was  the  name  of  the  vessel,  sailed  like  Uk 
witch.  We  overhauled  and  passed  everything  we  saw  in  our  course. 
She  was  put  on  this  trade  seeing  she  was  a  clipper,  to  run  away  from 
the  colony  cutters,  which  like  the  provincials  themselves  havn't 
much  go  ahead  in  them ;  for  her  owners  were  in  the  habit  of  looking 
upon  the  treaty  about  the  fisheries  with  as  much  respect  as  an  old 
newspaper.  All  the  barrels  on  board  intended  for  fish  were  filled 
with  notions  for  trading  with  the  residenters  along  shore,  and  all  the 
room  not  occupied  by  salt  was  filled  with  churns,  buckets^  hay-rakes, 
farming  forks,  factory  cotton,  sailors'  clothes,  cooking-stoves,  and  all 
sorts  of  things  to  sell  for  cash  or  barter  for  fish.  It  was  a  new  page 
in  the  book  of  life  for  me,  and  I  thought  if  the  captain  was  only  the 
right  sort  of  man,  I'd  have  liked  it  aniazinly. 

The  first  day  or  two  the  men  were  busy  stowing  away  their  things, 
arranging  their  berths,  watches  and  duties,  and  shaking  themselves 
fairly  into  their  places  for  a  long  cruise ;  for  the  vessel  was  to  be 
supplied  by  another  at  Canseau,  into  which  she  was  to  discharge  her 
fish,  and  resume  her  old  sphere  of  action,  on  account  of  her  sailing 
qualities.  A  finer  crew  I  never  saw — all  steady,  respectable,  active, 
well-conducted,  young  men ;  and  everything  promised  a  fair  run, 
and  a  quiet,  if  not  a  pleasant  trip  to  Slielburne.  But  human  natur 
is  human  natur,  wherever  you  find  it.  A  crew  is  a  family,  and  we 
all  know  what  that  is.  It  may  be  a  happy  family,  and  it  ought  to 
be,  but  it  takes  a  great  deal  to  make  it  so,  and  every  one  must  lend 
a  hand  towards  it.  If  there  is  only  one  screw  loose,  it  is  all  day 
with  it.  A  cranky  father,  a  scoldin'  mother,  a  refractory  Koy,  or  a 
sulky  gall,  and  it's  nothin'  but  a  house  ot  correction  from  one  blessed 
New  Year's  Day  to  another. 

There  is  no  peace  where  ihe  wicked  be.  This  was  the  case  oq 
board  the  ''Black  Hawk."  One  of  the  hands,  Enoch  Eells, *a  son 
of  one  of  the  owners,  soon  began  to  give  hinraelf  airs  of  superiority ; 
and  by  his  behaviour,  showed  plain  that  he  considered  himself 
rather  in  the  light  of  an  officer  than  a  sharesman.  He  went  un- 
willingly about  his  work ;  and  as  there  was  little  to  do,  and  many 
to  do  it,  managed  to  escape  almost  altogether.  The  Captain  bore 
with  him  several  days,  silently,  (for  he  was  a  man  of  few  words), 
apparently  in  hopes  that  his  shipmates  would  soon  shame  him  into 
better  conduct,  or  force  him  to  it  by  resorting  to  those  annoyances 
they  know  so  well  how  to  practise,  when  they  have  a  mind  to.  On 
the  fifth  day,  we  were  within  three  miles  of  the  entrance  to  Shel- 
burn  Harbour ;  and  as  the  wind  began  to  fail,  the  Captain  was 
anxious  to  crowd  on  more  sail ;  so  he  called  to  the  watch  to  set  the 


OR,    LIFE    IN    A    PORE    AND    AFTER. 


M 


gaf-topsail ;  and  said  he,  "  Enoch,  I  guess  you  muy  go  up  and  keep 
It  free." 

"  I  guess  I  may,"  said  he ;  and  continued  pacing  up  and  down  the 
deck. 

"  Do  you  hear  what  I  say,  Sir  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  hear  you." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  obey.  Sir  ?" 

"Because." 

"  Because  !  what  sort  of  an  inswer  is  that,  Sir  ?" 

"  It's  all  the  answer  you'll  get,  for  want  of  a  better.  I'm  not 
going  to  do  all  the  work  of  the  vessel.  My  father  didn't  send  me 
here  to  be  your  nigger." 

"  I'll  teach  you  better  than  that,  young  man,"  snid  the  Captain. 
"While  I'm  here  as  skipper,  all  my  lawful  orders  shall  be  obeyed, 
or  I'll  punish  the  offender,  be  he  who  he  may.-  I  order  you  again 
to  go  up  aloft." 

"Well,  I  won't;  so  there  now,  and  do  your  prettiest." 

The  Captain  paused  a  moment,  grew  deadly  pale,  as  if  about  to 
faint ;  and  then  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  blood  in  his  body  had  rushed 
into  his  face,  when  he  jumped  up  and  down  on  the  deck,  with  out- 
stretched arms  and  clenched  fists,  which  he  shook  at  the  offender, 
and  cried  out, 

•  "Aloft,  aloft, 
Go  up  aloft, 

You  siuner." 

The  other  came  aft,  and  mockin'  him,  said,  in  a  drawlin',  whinin' 
voice,  that  was  very  provokin', 

"  I  won't,  that's  flat, 
So  just  take  that. 
You  sinner." 

The  Captain,  whose  eyes  were  flashing  fire,  an^  who  was  actually 
foamin'  at  the  mouth,  retorted, 

*•  May  I  never  see  bliss, 
If  I  put  up  with  this, 
You  sinner." 

It  was  evident  he  was  so  excited  as  to  be  quite  deranged. 

"  Sad  business  this,  Mr.  Slick,"  observed  the  mate.  "  Here,  Mr. 
h'ent,"  said  he,  addressing  the  second  officer,  "I  can  depend  upon 
you ;  assist  me  to  take  the  captain  below,  we  must  place  a  hand  in 
charge  of  him,  to  see  he  does  no  mischief  to  himself  or  anybody 
else,  arid  then  let's  go  forward,  and  see  what's  to  '  e  done." 

"Mr.  Slick,"  sais  he,  as  he  returned  with  the  second  mate,  "this 
is  a  bad  business.  I'm  afecrd  our  voyage  is  at  an  eend.  What  hat' 
I  best  do  ?" 

"  Go  forward/'  sais  I;  "and  make  that  villain  do  Lis  duty.     If 
5  * 


]IJ  1 

i|j 

1^ 

4 ; 

64 


THE    BLACK    HAWK; 


ho  obeys,  the  knowledge  of  it   may  cool  the  captain,  and  calm 
him." 

He  shook  his  head,  incredulously.  "  Never  I"  said  he,  "  never  I 
That  man  is  past  all  human  aid  j  ho  never  should  have  been  taken 
away  from  the  Asylum.  But  suppose  Eells  refuses  to  obey  me 
also?" 

"Make  him." 

"  How  can  I  make  him  ?" 

"Tie  him  up,  and  lick  him." 

"  Why  his  father  owns  half  the  'Hooker.'  " 

"Lick  him  all  the  harder  for  that;  he  ought  to  set  a  bettei 
example  on  board  of  his  father's  vessel." 

"  Yes,  and  get  myself  sued  from  one  court  to  another,  till  I'm 
ruined.     That  cat  won't  jump." 

"  Send  him  to  Shelburn  jail,  for  mutiny." 

«  What !  and  bo  sued  for  that  ?" 

"Well,  well,"  saia  I,  in  disgust,  "I'm  only  a  passenger;  but  I 
wish  I  was  as  I  used  to  be,  able  to  do  what  I  pleased,  whether  it 
convened  with  other  folks'  notions  of  dignity  or  not.  My  position 
in  society  won't  let  me  handle  him,  though  my  fingers  tingle  to  be 
at  him ;  but  I  don't  like  lettiu'  myself  down  arter  that  fashion, 
fightiu'  with  a  feller  like  that,  in  another  man's  quarrel.  It  goes 
agin  the  grain,  I  tell  you ;  but  old  times  is  stronger  than  new  fashions, 
and  I  must  say  that  critter  deserves  a  tannin'  most  richly." 

"If  you've  no  objection.  Sir,  I'll  handle  him,"  said  the  second 
mate. 

He  was  a  small-sized,  but  athletic  looking  man ;  not  near  so  strong 
apparently  as  Eels,  but  far  more  active.  His  complexion  was  father 
yellow  than  sallow,  in  consequence  of  his  recently  having  had  the 
fever  in  Jamaica ;  but  his  eye  was  the  most  remarkable  I  ever  saw. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  mate,  "  you  may  whip  him  as  long  as  you  like, 
if  you  aint  afeard  of  bein'  sued." 

Well,  we  went  over  to  whe-o  our  hero  was  walking  up  and  down 
the  deck,  looking  as  big  as  if  he  had  done  something  very  won- 
derful. 

"  Eells,"  said  the  mate,  "  come  like  a  good  fellow,  go  up  aloft,  and 
do  as  the  capten  ordered  you ;  obeyin'  him  might  restore  him,  for  he 
18  beside  himself." 

"I  won't;  so  spare  yourself  further  talk." 

"  Then  I  order  you." 

"  You  order,"  said  he,  putting  his  fist  in  the  officer's  face.  "  A 
pretty  fellow  you,  to  order  your  owner.  Now,  I  order  you  aft,  to  go 
and  attend  to  your  work." 

"Friend  Eels,"  said  the  second  mate,  "your  father  is  a  most 
tincommon  particular  lucky  man." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  him  hard  for  a  space,  dubdrsome  whether 


OR,    LIFE    IN     A     FOR£    ANT    AFTER. 


55 


Jo  condescend  to  answer  or  not;  but  had  no  more  idea  what  was  in 
Btore  for  him  than  a  child.     At  last  said  he,  sulkily  :  "  How  so?" 

♦<  Why,"  sais  Bent,  "  he  has  got  a  vessel,  the  captain  of  which  is 
mad,  a  mate  that  hasn't  the  moral  courage  of  a  lamb,  and  a  lazy  idle 
vagabond  of  a  son,  that's  a  disgrace  to  his  name,  place,  and  nation. 
I  wish  I  was  first  mate  here,  by  the  roarin'  Bulls  of  Bason,  I'd  make 
you  obey  my  orders,  I  know,  or  I'd  spend  every  rope's-end  and  every 
handspike  in  the  ship  first  j  and  if  that  didn't  do,  I'd  string  yon  up 
by  the  yard-arm,  or  my  name  aint  Jem  Bent,  you  good-for-nothin', 
worthless  rascal." 

"  Mr.  Bent,"  said  he,  "  say  those  words  again  if  you  dare,  and  I'll 
whip  you  within  an  inch  of  your  life." 

"  Oh,  yea !"  replied  the  other,  "  of  course  you  will,  and  great  credit 
you'd  get  by  it,  a  great  big  ongainly  ugly  brute  like  you,  thrashin' 
a  man  of  my  size,  that's  taking  bis  first  voyage  after  the  yellow  fever. 
Why,  I  see  you  are  a  coward  too ;  but  if  you  be,  I  beant,  so  I  repeat 
the  words,  that  you  are  a  good-for-nothin',  worthless  rascal ;  those 
were  the  words,  and  I'll  throw  in  coward,  to  make  it  weigh  heavier. 
Now,  come  on,  and  lick  an  invalide  man,  and  then  go  home  and  get 
a  commission  in  the"  horse  marines." 

He  appeared  to  take  all  this  trouble  to  make  him  strike  first,  so 
as  to  keep  within  the  law.  A  fight  is  a  fight,  Squire,  all  the  world 
over,  where  fightin'  is  the  fashion,  and  not  stabbin'.  It  aint  very 
pretty  to  look  at,  and  it  aint  very  pretty  to  describe,  and  it  don't  read 
very  pretty.  It's  the  animal  passion  of  man  roused  to  madness. 
There  aint  much  difference  to  my  mind  between  a  reproarious  man 
and  a  reproarious  bull ;  and  neither  on  'em  create  much  interest.  I 
wouldn't  describe  this  bout,  only  j,  genuine  Yankee  fight  is  different 
from  other  folk's.  Though  they  throw  off  their  coats,  they  don't  lay 
aside  their  jokes  and  jeers,  but  poke  hard  as  well  as  hit  hard. 

While  Eells  was  stripping  for  the  combat,  Bent  bammed  him :  sais 
he,  "  I  believe  I  won't  take  off  my  jacket,  Enoch,  it  might  save  my 
hide,  for  I  don't  want  to  have  that  tanned  till  I'm  dead." 

The  men  all  larfed  at  that,  and  it  don't  take  much  to  make  a 
crowd  laugh;  but  what  would  it  have  been  among  Englishmen? 
Why  it  would  have  been  a  serious  affair ;  and  to  show  their  love  of 
justice,  every  fellow  would  have  taken  a  side,  and  knocked  his 
neighbour  down  to  see  fair  play.  But  they  have  got  this  to  lam, 
"  to  hung  up  a  man's  cT/es  aint  the  way  to  enlighten  him..'' 

While  Bent  was  securing  his  belt,  sais  he,  "  Enoch,  whatever  you 
do,  spare  my  face ;  you  would  ruin  me  among  the  ladies,  if  you  hurt 
that." 

They  fairly  cheered  again  at  that  remark. 

"  Depend  on  it,"  sais  one  of  them,  "  Bent  knows  what  he's  about. 
See  how  cool  he  is  !  He's  agoin  to  quilt  that  felloW;  and  make  pretty 
patchwork  of  him,  see  if  he  aint." 


M 


THE    B  Ti  A  C  K    11  A  W  K  J 


"ii'i;  J 


¥     m  :i 


When  Bout  saw  liim  equurin'  off,  ho  put  up  his  fruanla  uwkvvanl 
like,  straight  up  iti  front,  "  Come  on,  Jack-tho-giunt-fcillor,"  sais  ho, 
"but  spare  my  dugcrtypo.     I  boscech  you  have  mcroy  on  tliul." 

With  that  Eells  rushod  forward,  and  U't  go  a  powerful  blow,  which 
the  other  had  just  time  to  catcii  and  ward  off;  but  as  Eolls  throw 
his  whole  weight  to  it,  ho  almost  went  past  iJont,  when  ho  tripped 
his  heels  as  quick  as  wink,  and  down  ho  wont  amazin'  heavy,  and 
nearly  knocked  the  wind  out  of  him. 

"  Well  done,  Bent,"  said  the  men.     "  Hurrah  for  Yellow  Jack !'' 

When  he  got  up  ho  blowod  a  little. 

"  Are  you  ready,"  says  Bent,  "  for  I  scorn  to  take  an  advantage, 
especially  of  a  coward ;  if  so  be  that  you're  ready,  come  on." 

Eells  fought  more  cautiously,  and  exchanged  a  few  passes  with 
his  antagonist,  but  we  soon  perceived  ho  had  about  as  much  chance 
with  him  as  a  great  big  crow  has  with  a  little  king-bird.  Presently, 
Bent  gave  him  a  smart  short  blow  right  atwixt  his  eyes,  not  enough 
to  knock  him  down,  but  to  blind  and  bewilder  him  for  a  minute, 
and  then  when  he  threw  his  arms  wide,  gave  him  a  smart  right  and 
lefter,  and  had  time  to  lay  in  a  second  round,  beginning  with  the  left 
hand,  that  did  smashing  work.  It  cut  him  awfully,  while  he  fell 
heavily  on  his  head  upon  a  spar,  that  caused  him  to  faint. 

"Friends  an'  countrymen,"  said  Bent  to  the  crew,  ''if  this  man 
thrashes  me  to  death,  as  he  throijtened,  put  a  seal  on  my  things  and 
send  them  home  to  Cuttyhunk,  that's  good  fellers." 

Oh  !  how  the  men  laughed  at  that.  One  of  thom  that  spoke  up 
before,  said,  "I'm  as  glad  as  if  somebody  had  given  me  lifty  dol- 
lars to  see  that  bully  get  his  deserts." 

It  seemed  as  if  Bent  wanted  to  tantalize  him,  to  take  a  little  more 
out  of  him.  "  Do  little  dear  heart,"  says  he,  "  is  mother's  own 
darlin'  ittle  boy  hurt?  Did  that  great  big  giant,  Jim  Bent,  thrash 
mudder's  on  dear  little  beauty  ?"     Creation  !  how  the  men  cheered. 

Eells  sat  up  and  looked  round,  while  the  other  crowed  like  a  cock, 
and  pretended  to  flap  his  wings. 

'*  Mate,"  said  Bent,  "  the  owner  orders  you  to  bring  hira  a  glass 
of  water ;  and  he  says  you  may  put  a  glass  of  rum  in  it,  and  charge 
it  to  our  mess." 

Eells  jumped  up  short  and  quick  at  that;  sais  he,  "I'll  pay  you 
for  this,  see  if  I  don't." 

To  coax  him  on,  the  other  observed,  "  I  shall  go  down  this  time. 
I'm  beat  out,  I  am  only  a  sick  man.     Bo  give  mc  a  drink." 

While  he  was  speaking,  the  mutineer  rushed  on  him  unawares, 
and  put  in  a  blow  that  just  grazed  the  back  of  his  head.  If  he 
hadn't  just  then  half  turned  by  accident,  I  do  believe  it  would  have 
taken  his  head  off  j  as  it  was,  it  kind  of  whirled  him  the  other  way 
in  front  of  Eells,  whose  face  was  unguarded,  and  down  he  went  i' 
an  instant. 


*;  ii 


OR,    L  I  F  E     1  N     A     F  O  H  K    A  N  I.     A  F  T  E  II , 


67 


To  mnko  a  long  story  short,  every  timo  he  raised  up,  Bont  floored 
him.  At  last  ho  giivc  in,  hollered,  and  was  can*ied  forward,  and  a 
tarpaulin  thrown  over  him.  The  other  warnt  hurt  a  bit,  in  fact 
the  exercise  seemed  to  do  him  good;  and  I  never  saw  a  man  pun- 
ished with  so  much  pleasure  in  my  life.  A  brave  man  is  sometimes 
a  d('Kj)rra(lo.     A  Indlj/  is  a/ivdi/s  a  coiiutrd. 

"Mate,"  says  I,  as  wo  returned  aft,  "  how  is  the  captain?" 

"More  composed  sir,  but  still  talking  in  short  rhymes." 

"  Will  ho  bo  fit  to  go  the  voyage  ?" 

"  No,  Sir." 

"  Then  ho  and  Eclls  must  be  sent  home." 

"What,  the  captain?" 

"Yes,  to  bo  sure;  what  in  natur*  is  the  good  of  a  mad  captain?* 

"Well,  that'?  true,"  sajd  he;  "  but  would  I  be  sued  ?" 

"Pooh  !"  said  I,  "act  and  talk  like  a  man.*' 

"  But  Eclls  is  the  owner's  son,  how  can  I  send  him  ?  I'll  bo 
sued  to  a  dead  sartainty." 

"I'll  settle  that;  give  mo  pen  and  ink:  —  'We  the  crow  of  the 
*  Black  Hawk,'  request  that  Mr.  Eolls  be  sent  homo  or  discharged, 
as  ho  may  fhoose,  for  mutinous  conduct;  otherwise  we  refuse  to  pro- 
ceed on  tl'      lyage.'     Call  the  men  aft  here." 

They  a  eared  and  signed  it. 

"  Now,"  sais  I,  "  that's  settled." 

"But  vvron't  wo  all  be  sued  ?"  said  he. 

"To  be  sure  you  will  all  be  sued,"  said  I,  "and  'pvivsued  to  the 
eends  of  the  airth,  by  a  constable  with  a  summons  from  a  magis- 
trate, for  one  cent  damage  and  six  cents  costs.  Dream  of  that  con- 
stable, his  name  is  Fear,  he'll  be  at  your  heels  till  you  die.  Do  you 
see  them  fore  and  a;'ters  under  M'Nutt's  Island  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  they  are  "V  ankee  fishermen,  some  loaded  and  some  empty, 
some  goin*  to  Prince  Edward's  Island,  and  some  returnin'  home. 
Hun  alongside  the  outer  ones,  and  then  I'll  arrange  for  the  passage 
of  these  people." 

"  But  how,"  said  he,  "  shall  I  make  the  voyage,  without  a  captain 
and  one  hand  less." 

"  A  mad  captain  and  a  mutinous  sailor,"  said  I,  "  are  only  in  the 
way.  I'll  ship  a  skipper  here,  off  the  island,  for  you,  who  is  a  first 
rate  pilot,  and  I'll  hire  a  hand  also.  You  must  be  the  responsible 
captain,  ho  will  be  the  actual  one,  under  the  rose.  He  is  a  capital 
fellow,  worth  ten  of  the  poor  old  rhymer.  I  only  hope  he  is  aJ 
home.     I  tell  you  I  know  every  man,  woman,  and  child  here." 

"But  suppose  any  accident  happened,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  he^ 
"mightn't  I  be  sued,  cast  in  damages,  and  ruinated?" 

"  Yon  are  afeard  of  law  ?"  sais  I,  "  aint  you  ?" 

"Well,  I  be,  that's  a  fact." 


Il 


58 


THE    BLACK    HAWK 


"  Weil,  I'll  tell  you  how  tc  escape  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  be  everlastingly  obliged  to  you. 
What  must  I  do  ?" 

"  Turn  pirate." 

"  Anu  be  hanged,"' sais  he,  turning  as  white  as  a  sheet. 

"No,"  sais  I,  "no  cruiser  will  ever  be  sent  after  i/ou.  Turn 
pirate  t-n  this  coast,  rob  and  plunder  all  the  gulls,  dippers,  lapwings, 
and  divers  nests  on  the  islands  and  highlands ;  shoot  the  crew  if 
they  bother  you,  make  them  walk  the  plank,  and  bag  the  eggs,  and 
then  sail  boldly  into  Halifax  under  a  black  flag  at  the  top,  and 
bloody  one  at  the  peak,  wear  a  uniform,  and  a  cocked  hat,  buckle  on 
a  sword,  and  call  yov-^^lf  Captain  Kidd.  I'm  done  witn  you,  put 
me  on  shore,  or  send  me  on  board  of  one  of  our  vessels,  and  fish 
for  yourselves.  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  the  '  Black  Hawk,'  the 
captain,  Enoch  Eells,  or  yourself.  You're  a  disgrace  to  our  great 
nation." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Slick  !"  said  he,  "  for  goodness  gracious  sake  don't  leave 
me  in  a  strange  port,  with  a  crazy  captain,  a  mutinous  sailor " 

"  And  an  everlastin'  coward  of  a  mate,"  sais  I. 

"Oh  !  don't  dcsai-t  »e,"  salJ  he,  a-wringin'  of  his  hands;  "don't, 
it's  a  heavy  responsibility,  I  aint  used  to  it,  and  I  might  be " 

"  Suec^,"  said  I.  "  That's  right,  bite  in  that  word  sved.  Never 
dare  mention  it  afore  me,  or  I'll  put  you  ashore  with  them  othci* 
chaps.  I'll  stand  by  you,"  sais  I,  ''for  our  great  country's  sake,  if 
you  will  do  exactly  as  I  toll  you.     Will  you  promise  ?"  '' 

"Yes,"  sais  he,  "I  will,  and  never  talk  about  being  sued. 
Never,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  tb(fn,  I'll  stand  by  you ;  and  if  you  are  sued,  I'll  pay  all 
damage." 

'^Oh !  Mr.  Slick,"  sais  he,  "you  must  excuse  me.  I  am  a  good 
seaman,  and  can  obey  orders.  I  never  commanded,  but  I  can  do  the 
work  of  a  mate." 

"No,  you  can't,"  sais  I.  "  Why  didn't  you  take  a  handspike, 
and  knock  that  mutinous  rascal  over?" 

"And  b-^ "  said  he.  * 

"Sued,"  sais  I.  "Yes,  sued;  and  suppose  you  had  been, 
wouldn't  all  the  mariners  of  the  Sound  a-stood  by  you,  and  called 
you  a  trump  ?  I  wish  to  goodness  Bent  had  a-licked  you,  instead 
of  Enoch.  It  would  have  done  ^oii  good — it  will  make  him  despe- 
rate. Go  home  and  farm;  and  when  a  bull  roars,  jump  over  a 
fence,  and  get  citated  and  sued  for  trespassin'  on  your  neighbour's 
farm.     Phew  !  I  hate  a  coward." 

"I  aint  a  coward;  I'm  foolish,  that's  all  —  a  little  nervcn?  about 
responsibilities  I  aint  used  to ;  but  whatever  you  say,  I'll  do." 

"  I'll  take  you  at  your  word,"  sais  I.  "  Range  up  alongside  of 
that  outer  craft,  and  send  me  aboard" 


OR,    LIFE    IN    A    FORE    AND    AFTER. 


69 


Well,  I  hailed  the  vessel,  and  found  she  was  the  *  Bald  Eagle/ 
Captain  Love,  of  Nantuc^  et.  "  Captain  Love  !"  sais  I  to  myself: 
"just  such  a  fellow,  I  suppose,  as  this  mate  ;  a  sort  of  milksop,  that 
goes  to  sea  in  fine  weather  j  and  when  he  is  to  home,  is  a  soit  of 
amphibious  beau  at  all  the  husken,  quilten,  and  thanksgivin'  parties. 
It's  half-past  twelve  o'clock  with  our  fishermen,  when  a  skipper's 
name  is  Love."  Sweet  love  !  —  home,  sweet  home  !  I  consaited  I 
did  not  feel  quite  so  well  as  when  I  left  Slickville. 

"Captain  on  board?"  sais  I. 

"I  guess  he  is,"  said  one  of  the  hands. 

"  Then  let  down  the  ladder,"  sais  I ;  "  please." 

"  Won't  a  rope  do  as  well  ?"  sais  he. 

"  It  would  do  on  a  pinch,"  sais  I.  "  I  do  suppose  I  could  come 
up  hand  over  hand  by  it,  and  lick  you  with  the  eend  of  it,  too,  if  I 
liked ;  but  being  a  landsman,  I  don't  calculate  to  climb,  when  there 
are  a  pair  of  stairs;  and,  to  my  mind,  it  wouldn't  lower  our  great 
nation,  if  its  citizens  were  a  little  grain  more  civil.  If  you  don't  let 
it  down,  as  Colonel  Crockett  said,  '  You  may  go  to  the  devil,  and  I'll 
go  to  Texas.'  " 

"Well,"  sais  he,  "  a  pleasant  voyage  to  you.  They  tell  me  it's  a 
fine  country,  that." 

"Push  off,  my  men,"  sais  I;  and  while  they  were  backing  water, 
"  Give  my  compliments  to  the  Captain,"  I  said;  "and  tell  him  Mr. 
Slick  called  to  see  him,  and  pay  his  respects  to  him ;  but  was  drove 
off  with  impudence  and  insult." 

Just  then,  a  man  rushed  down  from  the  quarter-deck,  and  caller 
out,  "What  in  the  world  is  all  this?     Who  did  that  person  say  hi 
was?" 
f^Mr.  Slick,"  said  the  spokesman. 

"  Ar.d  how  dare  you,  Sir,  talk  to  a  gentleman  in  :;hat  way?  This 
way,  Mr  Slick,"  for  it  was  getting  dark ;  "  this  way,  please.  Very 
glad  to  see  you.  Sir.  Down  with  the  ship's  ladder  there,  and  fasten 
the  man  ropes;  and  here,  one  of  you  go  down  the  first  two  steps, 
and  hold  the  ropes  steady,  and  back  up  before  him.  Welcome,  Sir," 
sais  he,  "  on  board  the  '  Bsld  Eagle.'  The  Captain  is  below,  and 
Tyill  be  delighted  to  see  you  :  I'm  his  first  maie.  But  you  must  sta^ 
here  to-night.  Sir."  Then,  taking  me  a  little  on  one  side,  he  said : 
"  I  presume  you  don't  know  our  skipper  ?  Excuse  me  for  hinting 
you  will  have  to  humour  him  a  little  at  first,  for  he  is  a  regular 
character — rough  as  a  Polw  bear;  but  his  heart  is  in  the  right  place 
Did  y<?u  never  hear  of  *  Old  Blow  hard  ?'  " 


B 


60 


THE    BLACK    HAWK 


CHAPTER  V. 


OLD  BLOWIIARD. 


"  This  way,  Mr.  Slick,  please,"  said  the  mate,  "  Before  we  go 
below,  I  want  to  prepare  you  for  scein'  our  captain.  It  is  not  easy 
to  find  his  counterpart.  Ho  is  singularly  eccentric,  and  stands  ouc 
in  bold  relief  from  the  rest  of  his  race.  Ho  may  be  said  to  be  sut 
generis." 

"  Hullo !"  sais  I  to  myself,  "  where  the  plague  did  you  pick  up 
that  expression  ?     It  strikes  me  his  mate  is  sal  gciicrh,  too." 

''  The  only  thing  that  I  know  to  compare  him  to,"  he  continued, 
"  is  a  large  cocoa-nut.  First,  he  is  covered  with  a  rough  husk  that 
a  hatchv^t  would  hardly  cut  thro',  and  then  inside  of  that  is  a  hard 
shell,  that  would  require  a  saw  amost  to  penetrate ;  but  arter  that 
the  core  is  soft  and  sweet,  and  it's  filled  with  the  very  milk  of  human 
kindness.  You  must  understand  this,  and  make  allowances  for  it, 
or  you  won't  get  on  well  together  at  all;  and  when  you  do  come  to 
know  him,  you  will  like  him.  He  has  been  to  me  more  than  a 
friend.  If  he  had  been  my  own  father,  he  couldn't  have  been  kinder 
to  me.  The  name  he  goes  by  among  the  fishermen,  is  '  Old  Blow- 
hard/  he  is  a  stern  but  just  man,  and  is  the  Commodore  of  the  fleet, 
and  applied  to  in  all  cases  of  difiiculty.  Now  follow  me,  but  when 
you  descend  half  way,  remain  there  till  I  announce  you,  that  you 
may  hear  his  strange  way  of  talking." 

"  Captiu,"  said  he,  as  he  opened  the  door  of  the  little  after-cabin, 
**  there  is  a  stranger  here  wishes  to  see  you." 

"  What  the  devil  have  I  got  to  do  with  a  stranger  ?"  he  replied, 
in  a  voice  as  loud  as  if  he  was  speakiu'  in  a  gale  of  wind.  "  Ho 
don't  want  to  see  me  at  all,  and  if  he  has  got  anythin'  to  say,  just 
hear  what  it  is.  Matey,  and  then- send  him  about  his  business.  No, 
he  don't  want  me ;  but  I'll  tell  you  what  the  lazy  spongin'  vaga- 
bond wants,  he  is  fishin'  for  a  supper  to  eat;  for  these  great  hungry, 
gaunt,  gander-bellied,  blue-noses  take  as  much  bait  as  a  shark.  Tell 
the  cook  to  boil  him  a  five-pound  piece  of  pork  and  a  peck  of  pota- 
toes, and  then  to  stand  over  him  with  the  rollin'-pin,  and  make  him 
eat  up  every  mite  and  morsel  of  it  clean,  for  we  aint  used  to  other  I'olks' 
leavin's  here.  Some  fun  in  that,  jMatey,  aint  there  T'  And  he 
larfed  heartily  at  his  own  joke.  "  JMatey,"  said  he,  "I  have  almost 
finished  my  invention  for  this  patent  jigger  ;  start  that  critter  forrard, 
and  then  come  and  look  at  it,  Sonney." 

The  mate  then  returned  to  mc,  and  cxteudiu'  to  me  his  hand, 


OLD     BLOW HARD 


61 


with  which  he  gavo  mc  a  friendly  squeeze,  we  descended  to  the  door. 
Captain  Love  was  sittin'  at  a  table  with  a  lamp  before  him,  arid  was 
wholly  absorbed  in  eontemplatin'  of  an  instrument  he  was  at  work 
at,  that  resembled  a  gus-burner  with  four  long  arms,  each  of  which 
was  covei;i;d  on  the  outside  with  fish-hooks.  From  the  manner  in 
which  he  worked  it  by  a  cord  up  and  down,  it  appeared  to  be  so 
contrived  as  to  be  let  easily  into  the  water,  like  a  single  bolt  of  iron, 
so  as  not  to  disturb  the  mackerel,  and  then  by  pullin*  the  line  to 
stretch  out  the  arms,  and  in  that  manner  be  drawn  up  through  the 
shoal  of  fish.     It  was  this  he  had  just  called  his  "  patent  jigger." 

He  was  a  tall,  wiry,  sunburnt,  weather-beaten  man.  His  hair 
was  long  and  straight,  and  as  black  as  an  Indian's,  and  fell  wildly 
over  bis  back  and  shoulders.  In  short;,  he  might  easily  have  been 
mistaken  for  a  savage.  His  face  exhibited  a  singular  compound  of 
violent  passion  and  good-nature.  He  was  rigged  in  an  old  green 
pea-jacket,  made  of  a  sort  of  serge,  (that  is  now  so  commonly  worn 
as  to  be  almost  a  fisherman's  uniform),  a  pair  of  yellow  waterproof 
cotton  duck-trowsers,  surmounted  by  a  pair  of  boots,  made  of  leather 
such  as  patent-trunks  are  composed  of,  being  apparently  an  inch 
thick,  and  of  great  weight  as  well  as  size.  Beside  him  there  lay  ont  he 
table  an  old  black,  low-crowned,  broad-brimmed,  shapeless  nor' wester 
hat.  He  wore  spectacles,  and  was  examinin'  very  closely  the  mech- 
anism of  the  extended  prongs  of  the  "jigger."  He  was  mumblin' 
to  himself,  a  sort  of  thinkin'  aloud. 

"  The  jints  work  nicely,"  said  he ;  "but  I  can't  make  them  catch 
and  hold  on  to  the  shoulder.     I  can't  work  that  pesky  snap." 

"I'll  show  you  how  to  fix  it,"  sais  I. 

He  turned  his  head  round  to  where  the  voice  came  from,  and 
looked  at  mc  nearly  speechless  with  surprise  and  rage ;  at  last,  ho 
jumped  up,  and  almost  putting  his  fist  m  my  face,  roared  out : 

''  Who  the  devil  are  you  ?  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  And 
what  do  you  want,  that  you  dare  poke  your  ugly  nose  in  here  un- 
asked arter  this  fashion  ?"  And  before  I  could  answer  he  went  on  : 
"Why  don't  you  speak,  you  holler-cheeked,  lanturn-jawed  villain? 
You  have  slack  enough  to  home,  I  know,  for  you  and  your  countrymen 
do  nothin  but  jaw  and  smoke  all  winter.  What  do  you  want?" 
said  he.  "  Out  with  it,  and  be  quick,  or  I'll  make  you  mount  that 
ladder  a  plaguey  sight  faster  than  you  come  down  it,  I  know  1" 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "as  far  as  I  know,  sittin'  is  about  as  cheap  as 
staudin'  'specially  when  you  don't  pay  for  it,  so  by  your  leave  I'll 
take  a  seat." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Matey  ?"  said  he  j  "don't  that  take  the  rag 
ofi"  the  bush  ?  Haint  these  Bluenoses  got  good  b.oughtens  up,  eh  ? 
(Jonfouud  his  impudence  I"  and  he  rung  the  bell  "Come  here,  you 
curly-headed,  onsarcumsised  little  imp  of  midnight !"  said  he,  ad- 
dressiu'  a  black  boy.  "  Bring  that  little  piece  of  rope-yarn  here  I' 
G 


1 

f 
I 

t 

1 

i 

62 


OLD     DLOWHARD 


The  boy  trembled ;  ho  saw  his  master  was  furious,  and  he  didn't 
know  whether  the  storm  was  to  burst  on  his  head  or  mine.  He  re- 
turned in  a  minute  with  one  of  the  most  formidable  instruments  of 
punishment  I  ever  beheld  j  and,  keeping  the  table  between  himself 
and  his  muster,  pushed  it  towards  him,  and  disappeared  in  an  instant. 
It  was  made  of  rope,  and  had  a  handle  worked  in  one  eend  of  it, 
like  the  ring  of  a  door-key.  This  appeared  to  be  designed  for  the 
insertion  of  the  wrist;  below  this  the  rope  was  single  for  about  four 
or  five  inches,  or  the  depth  of  a  hand,  which  had  the  effect  of  ren- 
dering it  both  pliable  and  manageable,  from  which  point  it  had  an- 
other piece  woulded  on  to  it. 

"  Now,  Sir,"  said  he,  "out  with  it;  what  do  you  want?" 

"  Nothin',"  said  I,  quite  cool. 

"Oh  no,  of  course  not;  you  couldn't  cat  a  bit  of  supper,  could 
you,  if  you  got  it  for  nothin'  ?  for  you  look  as  lank,  holler,  and 
slinkey,  as  a  salmon,  jist  from  the  lakes  after  spawnin'  time,  a  goin' 
to  take  a  cruise  in  salt  water.'' 

"Well,"  sais  I,  "since  you  are  so  prossiu',  I  don't  care  if  I  do." 

"  Will  a  five  pound  piece  of  pork  and  a  peck  of  potatoes  do  you  ?" 
said  he,  a  rubbiu'  of  his  hands  as  if  the  idea  pkasjed  him. 

"  No  it  won't,"  sais  I,  "  do  at  all." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  so,  Matey,"  said  he ;  "  these  long-legged,  long- 
necked,  hungry  cranes,  along  the  coast  here  are  jist  like  the  Ind- 
gians ;  they  can  take  enough  at  one  meal  to  last  'cm  for  a  week. 
He  turns  up  his  nose  at  a  piece  of  pork,  and  wants  to  go  the  whole 
hog,  hay?  How  much  will  do,"  said  he,  "just  to  jtjiy  your  appe- 
tite till  next  time  ?"  ^ 

"  A  biscuit  and  a  glass  of  water,"  sais  1. 

"  A  biscuit  and  a  glass  of  water,"  said  he,  lookin'  at  me  with 
utter  amazement;  "how  modest  we  are,  aint  we?  Butter  wouldn't 
melt  in  our  mouth,  if  we  had  got  any  to  put  there,  would  it?  A 
glass  of  water !  Oh  !  to  be  sure,  you're  so  cussed  proud,  lazy,  and 
poor,  you  can't  buy  rum,  so  you  jine  temperance  society,  mnke  a 
merit  of  necessity,  and  gulp  down  the  fish  spawn,  till  you  liave 
spoilt  the  fisheries.  Come  to  lectur'  on  it,  I  suppose',  and  then  pass 
the  hat  round  and  take  up  a  collection.  Is  there  anything  else  you 
want?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "there  is;  but  I  might  as  well  go  to  a  goat'a 
house  to  look  for  wool,  as  to  search  for  it  here ;  and  that's  civil 
usage." 

"Oh,  that's  the  ticket,  is  it?"  said  he.  ",You  first  of  all  force 
yourself  into  my  cabin,  won't  take  no  for  an  answer,  and  then  com- 
plain  of  oncivility.  Well,  mister,  if  I  received  you  cold,  you'll  find 
this  place  too  hot  to  hold  you  long,  I  know.  I'll  warm  your  jacket 
before  I  st 


you 


you 


seizin 


little  bit  of  ropeyarn — as  he  called  the  punisher — he  fitted  it  on  the 


•Tfcr 


OLD    BLOW  HARD. 


68 


with 

iuldn't 
?  A 
,  and 

lukc  a 
have 

In  puss 

jse  you 

goat's 
civil 

force 

coni- 

lll  find 

jacket 

|of  the 

m  the 


wrist  of  his  right  hand,  and  stood  up  in  front  of  me,  with  the  hiok 
of  a  tiger.  "  No  more  time  for  parley  now,"  said  he.  *'  Who  the 
devil  arc  you,  and  what  brought  you  here  ?  Out  with  it,  or  out  of 
this  like  wink."  \ 

"  I  am  Sam  Slick,"  sais  I. 

"  Sam  Slick  1  Sam  Slick !"  said  he,  a  pronouncin'  of  the  words 
slowly  arter  me. 

"  Yes,"  sais  I ;  "at  least,  what's  left  of  me." 

"  Matey,  Matey,"  said  he,  "  only  think  of  this !  How  near  I  was 
a  quiltin'  of  him  too  1  Sam  Slick  !  Well,  who  in  the  world  would 
have  expected  to  see  you  a  visitin'  a  mackerel  schooner  away  down 
in  these  regions  arter  dark  this  way  ?  Well,  I  am  right  glad  to  see 
you.  Give  me  your  fin,  old  boy.  We  got  something  better  than 
fish  spawn  on  board  here,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh,  between  a  grunt 
and  a  chuckle,  that  sounded  like  a  gurglin'  in  the  throat.  "  We 
must  drink  to  our  better  acquaintance ;"  and  he  produced  a  bottle 
of  old  Jamaiky  rum,  and  called  for  tumblers,  and  some  sugar  and 
water.  "  You  must  excuse  our  plain  fare  here,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  he  : 
"  we  are  a  rough  people,  work  hard,  fare  coarsely,  and  sleep  soundly. 
Tell  you  what  though,  Matey,  and,  by  Jove !  I  had  een  amost  for- 
got all  about  'em,"  and  he  snapped  his  fingers  in  great  glee ;  "  we 
have  got  a  lot  of  special  fine  eysters  on  board,  raked  up  only  three 
days  ago  on  Prince  Edward  Island  flats.  Pass  the  word  for  old 
Satan."  When  the  black  cook,  who  answered  to  this  agreeable 
name,  made  his  appearance  at  the  door,  the  Captin  said,  "  Satan,  do 
you  see  that  gentleman  ?" 

"Yes,  Massa." 

"  Well,  he  is  goin'  to  sup  with  us  this  evenin'.  N6w,  off  with 
you  like  iled  lightnin',  and  pass  on  the  eysters  as  quick  as  wink, 
both  hot  and  cold." 

"  Yes,  Massa,"  said  the  black,  with  a  grin  that  showed  a  row  of 
beautiful  white  teeth,  that  a  London  dandy  or  a  Cuba  shark  might 
envy ;  and  then  I  heerd  him  say,  in  a  low  voice,  "  Ky !  what  de 
meanin'  ob  all  dis  ?  When  de  sun  shines  so  bright,  in  a  gineral 
way,  it's  a  wedder  breeder.  We  js  to  ab  a  storm  soon,  as  sure  as  do 
world." 

"  Come,  no  grumblin'  there,"  said  the  Captin.  "  Do  as  1  order 
you,  or  ril — " 

"  I  warn't  a  grumblin',  Massa,"  said  he  ;  "I  despise  such  ouda- 
gious  conduct ;  i  was  only  sayin'  how  lubly  de  oleriferous  smell  of 
dat  are  rum  was.  It's  too  beautiful  to  drink  j  it  ought  to  bo  kept 
for  smellin',  dat  are  a  nateral  fact." 

"  There,  take  a  glass,  and  be  off  with  you,"  said  the  mate.  "  Come, 
bear  a  hand  now." 

"  Tankee,  Massa.  Oh,  golly  I  dat  are  sublime  bebberidge  I"  and 
he  itjtired  with  affected  haste. 


U»^'^ 


m 


u 


m 


[  18      ,f  wiiffl 


64 


OLD    BLOW  HARD. 


"  Dear  me  !  Sam  Slick  V  said  Blowhard,  "  eh  !  well,  if  that  don*i 
beat  all !  And  yet  somehow  you  hadu't  ought  to  have  taken  such  a 
rise  as  that  out  of  an  ohl  man  like  me;  and  it  aint  safe  cither  to 
tantalize  and  play  with  an  old  bear  that  hante  got  his  claws  cut.  I 
might  a  walked  into  you  afore  you  knowed  it;  and  if  I  had  once  a 
begun  at  you,  I  shouldn't  a  heard  a  word  you  said,  till  I  had  dressed 
you  off  rail  complete.  I  dare  say,  you  will  make  a  capital  story  out 
of  it,  about  Old  Bloicliard ;  but  I  think  I  may  say,  I'm  the  best- 
iiatur'd  man  in  the  world,  when  I  aint  riled;  but  when  I  am  put  up, 
I  suppose  I  have  temper  as  well  as  other  folks.  Come,  here  ^  re  the 
eysters."  « 

Alter  a  while,  Blowhard  paused  from  eatin',  and  said  he,  "Mr. 
Slick,  there  is  one  question  I  want  to  ask  you ;  I  always  thought,  if 
I  should  fall  in  with  you,  I  would  enquire,  jist  for  curiosity.  I  have 
read  all  your  stories ;  and  where  in  the  world  you  picked  them  all 
up,  I  don't  know;  but  that  one  about  'Polly  Coffin's  sand-hole/ 
(bein'  an  old  pilot  myself  on  this  everlastin'  American  coast),  tickled 
my  fancy,  till  I  amost  cried  a  larfin.  Now,  hadn't  you  old  'Uncle 
Kelly'  in  your  eye  at  that  time  'I     Warn't  it  meant  for  him  ?" 

"  Well,  it  was,"  sais  I ;  "  that's  a  nateral  fact." 

"Didn't  I  always  tell  you  so,  Matey?"  said  he.  "I  knowed  it. 
It  stood  to  reason,  Old  Uncle  Kelly  and  Old  Blowhard  are  the  only 
skippers  of  our  nation  that  could  tell  where  they  were,  arter  that 
fashion,  without  a  gettin'  out  of  bed,  jist  lookin'  at  the  lead  that 
way.  It's  a  great  gift.  Some  men  excel  in  one  line,  and  some  in 
another.  Now,  here  is  Matey  —  I  don't  think  he  is  equal  to  me  as  a 
pilot ;  he  aint  old  enough  for  that.  Nothin'  but  experience,  usin'  the 
lead  freely,  soundin'  a  harbour,  when  you  are  kept  in  it  by  a  head- 
wind or  a  calm,  dottin'  down  on  the  map  the  shoals,  and  keepin' 
them  well  in  mind,  will  make  you  way  wise.  He  can't  do  that  like 
me,  and  I  don't  know  as  he  has  a  genius  that  way ;  nor  is  he  equal 
to  me  as  a  fisherman.  The  fact  is,  1  won't  turn  my  back  on  any  man 
— Southerner,  Yankee,  or  Provincial — from  the  Cape  of  Vargiuy  to 
Labrudore,  as  a  fisherman ;  and  though  I  say  it  who  shouldn't  say 
it,  there  aint  a  critter  among  them  all,  (and  it  is  generally  allowed 
on  all  sides  as  a  fact),  that  can  catch,  clean,  split  and  salt  as  many 
mackerel  or  cod  in  a  day  as  I  can.  That  too  is  a  sort  of  nateral  gift; 
but  it  takes  a  life  amost  to  ripen  it,  and  bring  it  to  perfection.  But 
as  a  seaman,  I'll  back  Matey  agin  any  officer  in  our  navy,  or  any 
captin  of  a  marchantman  that  hists  the  goose  and  gridiron  as  a  flag. 
It  would  do  you  good  to  see  him  handle  a  vessel  in  a  gale,  blowia' 
half  hurricane,  half  tornado,  on  a  lee-shore." 

"  Well,  never  mind  that  now,"  said  the  mate,  for  he  appeared  un- 
comfortable at  listenin'  to  the  soft  sawder ;  "  it's  uothiu'  but  yout 
kindness  to  think  so — nothin'  else." 

The  captain  proceeded ; 


OLD    BLOWHARD. 


6i 


% 


"  Where  was  you  last  Sunday  ?" 

"  A  comin'  down  the  Sound/'  sais  I. 

•'With  a  clear  sky,  and  a  smart  southerly  breeze?''  ', 

"  Exactly,"  sais  I ;  "  and  it  fell  short  of  the  harbour  here." 

"Just  so,  I  knowed  it;  there  aiut  two  gales  ever  at  the  same  time 
60  close  in  opposite  directions ;  one  kinder  takes  the  wind  out  of  the 
other's  sails.  Well.  Sunday  last  we  was  a  comin'  round  Scattery 
Island,  easit  side  of  Cape  Briton,  when  we  were  cotched.  Creation, 
how  it  blew  !  'Capting !'  sais  Matey,  and  we  shook  hands,  'capting,* 
sais  he,  'I'm  most  afeard  we  can't  come  it;  one  half  hour  at  most, 
and  we  shall  be  all  right,  or  in  dead  man's  land ;  but  there  is  no 
time  for  talk  now.  God  bless  you !  and  I  thank  you  with  all  my 
heart  for  all  your  kindness  to  me.'  The  critter  was  thinkin'  of  his 
mother,  I  suppose,  when  he  talked  that  nonsense  about  kindness. 

" '  Now  take  charge,  and  station  me  where  you  like.* 

"  '  No,'  sais  I,  '  your  voice  is  clearer  than  mine ;  your  head  is  cool, 
and  you  talk  less,  so  stay  where  you  be.' 

"  '  I'll  con  her  then,'  sais  he,  '  and  you  must  steer.  Another  hand 
now  to  the  helm  with  the  capting.  That's  right,'  sais  he;  'stick  her 
well  up ;  gain  all  you  can,  and  keep  what  you  get.  That's  it.  Will 
the  masts  hold  ? 

" '  I  guess  they  will,'  sais  I. 

"  '  Then  we  must  trust  to  'era ;  if  they  go  we  go  with  'em.  Keep 
her  nearer  yet.  Well  done,  old  Eagle,'  said  he ;  '  you  aint  afeard  of 
it,  I  see.  She  is  goin'  to  do  it  if  she  holds  together,  capting.  Tight 
squeeze  tho',  there  aint  an  inch  to  spare;  aint  she  a  doll?  don't  she 
behave  well  ?     Nearer  yet  or  we  are  gone — steady.' 

"  Oh  !  what  a  bump  she  gave  !  it  jist  made  all  stagger  agin. 

"  '  There  goes  twenty  feet  of  her  false  keel,'  sais  I,  a  jumpin'  up, 
and  a  snappin'  of  my  fingers;  '  that's  all  Scattery  wrackers  will  make 
out  of  the  '  Bald  Eagle'  this  trip,  and  they  want  that  to  keep  them 
warm  next  winter.  We  have  cleared  the  outer  ledge ;  we  are  all 
safe  now;  another  hand  to  the  wheel  here  in  my  place.  And, 
Matey,'  sais  I,  'let's  shorten  sail  —  alter  our  course — and  get  under 
the  lee  on  the  other  side.' 

"  It  was  an  awful  storm  that,  I  tell  you ;  and  it  would  have  been 
a  cry  in'  sin  to  lose  such  a  seaman  as  that  in  a  common  fore  and 
after.  No,  this  is  our  last  trip — the  South  Sea  for  me — the  mackerel 
is  only  fit  for  boys  to  catch — the  whale  is  the  sport  for  a  man,  aint 
it.  Matey  ?  I  am  goin'  to  buy  a  whaler  when  I  return  home ;  ho 
shall  be  my  capting,  and  command  the  ship.  I'll  take  charge  of  the 
boats,  and  the  harpoon  will  suit  me  better  than  a  patent  jigger. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  all  the  damage  we  sufiered  was  the  loss  of  about 
twenty  feet  of  false  keel.  We  ought  to  be  thankful  to  Providence 
for  that  marciful  escape^  and  I  hope  we  are.  And  so  ought  you  to 
be  also,  Mr.  Slick,  for  you  come  plaguey  near  having  yourn  stripped 


'*«*,' 


if 

,■■( 

1; 

r 

n^ 


I 


§ 


m 


I;  Mti 


iSli 


li 


66 


OLD    BLOW  HARD, 


off  too  just  now,  I  tell  you.  But  stay  on  board  to-night.  Satan, 
make  a  bed  up  for  Mr.  Slick." 

"There's  just  one  plate  more,  Massa  Sam,"  sa^il  Satan,  whose 
countenance  suddenly  lit  up  on  hearing  my  name.  "  Do  try  and  eat  j 
I  is  sure  you  isn't  well,  Massa  Sam." 

"  Massa  Sam !"  said  the  captain  in  a  voice  that  might  be  heard  on 
the  island,  "  who  the  devil  do  you  call  Massa  Sam  ?  Matey,  that  is 
your  fault;  it  don't  do  to  talk  too  free  to  piggers ;  it  makes  them 
sarcy.   Clear  away  these  things,  and  clap  a  stopper  on  your  tongue." 

"  Yes,  Massa,"  said  the  negro,  who  edged  round,  and  got  the  table 
between  himself  and  his  master,  and  then  muttered  :  "  I  taught  dere 
,  would  be  a  storm  soonj    I  said  intestinally  to  myself,  dis  was  a 

I4..  wedder  breeder."     Thinkin'  himself  safe,  he  said  again:  "Massa 

Sam,  how  did  you  leave  Miss  Sally  ?  Many  a  time  dis  here  nigga 
hab  carried  her  to  school  in  his  arms  when  she  was  a  little  pickaninie. 
Oh !  she  was  de  most  lubly  little  lady  dat  de  sun  eber  behold,  often 
as  he  had  travelled  round  de  circumference  ob  de  world." 

"  Why  who  the  '^^ague  are  you  ?"  sais  I,  "■  Satan,  Satan  ?  I  never 
heard  that  name  afore.     Who  are  you?" 

"Juno's  son,  Sir  !  You  mind,  massa,  she  was  always  fond  of  fine 
names,  and  called  me  Oilt/ander." 

"Why,  Oleander,"  says  I,  "my  boy,  is  that  you?"  and  I  held 
out  my  hand  to  him,  and  shook  it  heartily.  I  heard  Old  Blowhard 
inwardly  groan  at  this  violation  of  all  decency ;  but  he  said  nothin' 
till  the  man  withdrew. 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  sais  he,  "  I  am  astonished  at  you  shakin'  hands  with 
that  critter,  that  is  as  black  as  the  devil's  hind  foot.  If  he  was  a 
slave  you  might  make  free  with  him,  but  you  can't  with  these 
northern  free  niggers ;  it  turns  their  head,  and  makes  them  as  forred 
and  as  sarcy  as  old  Scratch  himself.  They  are  an  idle,  lazy,  good- 
for-nothin'  race,  and  I  wish  in  my  soul  they  were  all  shipped  off  out 
of  the  country  to  England,  to  ladies  of  quality  apd  high  degree  there, 
that  make  such  an  everlastin'  touss  about  them,  that  they  might  see 
and  know  the  critters  they  talk  such  nonsense  about.  The  devil  was 
painted  black  long  before  the  slave  trade  was  ever  thought  of.  All 
the  abolition  women  in  New,  and  all  the  sympathisin'  ladies  in  Old 
England  put  together,  can't  make  an  Ethiopean  change  his  skin. 
A  nigger  is — a  nigger,  that's  a  fact." 

"Capting,"  sais  I,  ^'rank  folly  is  a  weed  that  is  often  found  in 
the  tall  rank  grass  of  fashion ;  but  it's  too  late  to-night  to  talk 
about  emancipation,  slavery,  and  all  that.  It  would  take  a  smart 
man  to  go  over  that  ground  from  daylight  to  dark,  I  know." 

"And  now,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  he,  "you  must  excuse  me;  I'm 
agoin'  to  turn-in.  Here  are  pipes  and  cigars,  and  old  Jumaiky,  and 
if  you  like  to  sit  up,  there  is  a  lad  (pointing  to  the  mate)  that  will 
just  suit.    You  have  seen  a  great  deal,  and  he  has  read  a  great  deal; 


THE    widow's     son 


67 


and  you  arc  jiat  the  boys  to  hitch  your  hosses  together,  I  know. 
Here  is  to  your  good  health,  Mr.  Slick,  and  our  better  acquaintance," 
said  he,  as  he  replenished  and  emptied  the  glass ;  ''  and  now  amuse 
yourselves.     Good  night." 


» 


^ 


^.^<^ 


v 


\   ^    CHAPTER   VI. 
THE   WIDOW'S   SON. 


ill 
I  talk 
lart 


m 
land 
IwiU 
leal. 


As  soon  as  the  Capting  went  into  his  little  state-room,  the  mate 
and  I  lighted  our  cigars,  drew  up  together  near  the  iable,  so  as  not 
to  disturb  him,  and  then  had  a  regular  dish  of  chat  to  digest  the 
eysters. 

"I  owe  everything,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  he,  "to  Blowhard.  If  it 
hadn't  been  for  him,  I  don't  know  what  on  earth  would  have  become 
of  niy  poor  mother,  and  her  little  helpless  family." 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "friend,  you  have  the  advantage  of  me." 

"  How  80  ?"  said  he. 

"Why,"  sais  I,  "you  have  got  my  name,  and  you  know  who  I 
be,  now  I  have  been  waitin'  to  hear  yourn  drop  from  the  Capting, 
so  as  to  pick  it  up,  and  get  on  without  asking  questions,  for  I  don't 
like  them  when  they  can  be  avoided ;  pray  what  might  it  be  V 

"  Timothy  Cutler,"  said  he.  "  Our  folks  was  originally  Puritans 
of  the  old  school.  Well,  I  dare  say  you  have  heard  of  Timothy 
Cutler,  President  of  Yale  College?" 

"  The  man  they  turned  out,"  sais  I,  "  because  he  became  an  Epis- 
copalian ?" 

"The  same,"  said  he.  "Well,  he  was  my  great-grandfather. 
Arter  he  quit  the  college,  he  sarved  an  English  Church  society  as  a 
missionary,  and  sO  did  his  son  after  him,  till  the  close  of  the  revolu- 
tion :  and  my  father  was  a  church  clergyman,  too,  to  a  place  called 
Barnstable.  There  has  always  been  a  Timothy)  Cutler  in  the  family. 
Well,  father  was  a  zealous,  pious  man,  and  mother  was  an  excellent 
manager;  and  although  they  were  poor  —  for  his  flock  was  small, 
most  o'  the  inhabitants  being  Congregationaiists  there  —  still  they 
made  out  to  make  two  ends  meet,  and  to  keep  us  all  neat  and  tidy. 
Still  it  required  all  possible  economy  to  do  it.  Father  took  great 
pains  with  me,  every  leisure  hour  he  had,  for  he  couldn't  afford  to 
send  us  to  school,  and  was  preparing  me  for  college ;  and,  for  a  boy  of 
fourteen,  I  was  perhaps  as  good  a  scholar  as  there  was  in  Connecticut 
It  was  arranged,  I  was  to  open  a  school  next  year,  under  his  care 


68 


THE     W  I  D  O  W  '  S     SON. 


m 


and  sanction,  to  nirn  money  for  tho  college  course.  Poor,  dear  mo- 
ther had  it  all  pianncMl  out;  hIic  had  u  beautiful  vision  of  her  own 
in  her  mind,  and  heliovcd  in  It  us  .strong  as  her  liible.  I  was  to  go 
thro'  Camhrid^'o  with  honours,  hccomo  a  great  lawyer,  go  to  Con- 
gres.<',  be  Secrutary  of  State,  and  tiud  by  being  elected  President  of 
the  nation  j  that  was  fi  iixed  fact  with  her. 

"  Women,  Mr.  Slick,  especially  all  .(ihose  wjjoso  mothers  live  to 
see  them  thro'  their  childhooil,  are  religiously  inclined.  They  have 
great  faith,  as  they  ought  to  have,  in  the  goodness  and  bounty  of. 
God,  and,  not  knowing  much  of  life,  Lave  perhaps  more  reliance 
than  is  just  altogether  safe  on  tho  world,  arid  whfl  it  is  able  or  willing 
to  do  for  them.  But  tliis  entire  hopefulness,  however,  this  strong 
conviction  that  all  will  be  right  in  the  end,  this  dispositiou;to  look 
on  the  sunny  side  of  life,  supports,  them  iti  all  their  trials,  carries 
them  thro'  aU,  thoir  troubles,  and  imparts  strength  equal  ta  tho 
weight  of  the  burden.  If  it  wasn't  for  this,  many  would  faint  in 
the  struggle,  find,  way-worn  and  weary,  sink  under  the  despondiu* 
influence  of  the  sad  heart-rending  realities  of  life.  It  was  this  made 
mother  happy  in  her  poverty,  and  chcorful  in  her  labours  and  pri- 
vations.    But  man  proposes,  and  God  disposes." 

"  Hullo  !"  sais  I  to  myself,  as  I  squared  round  to  take"  a  better 
look  at  him,  "  here's  anoiher  instance  of  what  I  have  often  obsarved 
in  life;  there  are  stranger  things  in  reality  than  can  he  found  in  ro- 
mances. Who  on  airth  would  have  expected  to  have  seen  a  man 
like  this,  a  mate  of  a  fore-and-aft  mackerel  hooker,  and  a  companion 
of  Old  Blowhard.  He  was  about  two  or  three  and  twenty,  and  one 
of  the  handsomest  young  men  I  ever  saw,  modest,  but  resolute-look- 
ing, sJ;rong,  active,  well-built,  jmd  what  might  be  called  the  model 
of  a  young  seaman."  ■•*    ' 

**^My  father,"  ho  continued,  "  caught  a  violent  cold,  inflammation 
set  in,  and  he  died  suddenly.  What  an  awful  dispensation  of  Pro- 
vidence was  this  !  But. in  giving  you  my  name.  Sir,  I  havo  no  right 
to  inflict  my  history  on  you.  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Slick,  but  these  feel- 
ins  have  been  pent  up  so  long,  that  they  found  vent  in  your  presence, 
unawares  to  myself." 

"By  no  means,  Mr.  Cutler,"  sais  I,  "go  on,  it  interests  me 
greatly.  You  have  nothia'  4©  tell  me  you  n^pd  be  ashanied  of,  I 
know."  ^-^'^  ■'^■■'^■^ 

"  I  trust  not,"  he  said :  "  but  my  object  was  nither  to  talk  of  Cap- 
tain Love  than  myself,  and  to  show  you  how  we  first  became  ac- 
quainted, and  what  he  has  done  for  me.  We  were  ])aupers,  literally 
paupers.  The  house  we  lived  in  belonged  to  the  congregation.  Our 
furniture  was  of  the  simplest  and  plainest  kind.  A  small  library, 
two  cows,  a  few  sheep,  and  a  pig  or  two,  constituted  all  our  worldly 
effects.  My  poor  mother  had  not  only  lost  her  husband,  friend,  pro- 
tector and  supporter,  but  all  her  bright  visions  of  promotion  and 


THK    widow's    son. 


feel- 


of,  I 


"'Siife^ 


prosperity  vanished  into  thin  air.  I  pass  over  the  scene  of  distress, 
desolation,  and  sorrow,  in  that  house.  I  cau't  think  of  it  even  now 
without  a  shudder.  My  mother's  grief  was  so  great,  I  thought  she 
would  have  .speedily  followed  her  husband.  The  neighbours  were 
all  very  kind.  One  day  the  old  churchwarden,  who  had  always  been 
attached  to  my  father,  dropt  in  and  tried  to  console  her;  but  the 
more  he  said,  the  faster  her  tears  flowed. 

"  At  last  he  remarked :  '  Madan  ,  do  you  recollect  the  words  of 
our  late  dear  pa-stor  ?  'He  who  ta/ceth  avoay  a  parent,  is  able  and 
williiuj  to  send  friends.'  Now  I  have  wrote  to  an  old  acquaintance 
of  mine.  Captain  Love,  who  sails  in  two  or  three  days,  and  he  will 
take  Timothy  to  sea  with  him.' 

'"As  what?'  said  mother,  lifting  up  her  head  and  wiping  her 
eyes.     '  As  what?     To  bring  him  up  as  what  ?' 

"  *  As  kind  as  if  he  was  a  child  of  his  own.' 

" '  Do  you  mean  as  a  'prentice  boy?' 

"'No,.Marm;  if  the  boy,  after  a  trip  or  two,  don't  like  it,  ho 
will  re  tarn.' 

" '  And  where  is  the  vessel  goin'  ?'    .  |; 

"  '  To  the  the  mackerel  fishery,'  said  lie. 

"  Oh  !  what  an  expression  came  over  her  face  of  unutterable 
anguish.  '  What !  to  catch  and  salt  fish  ?  Has  it  come  to  this  ? 
Oh,  my  son  !  my  sou  I  it  must  not  be  I' 

"  '  But  it  must  be,'  said  he  kindly,  but  firmly.  '  He  must  do  his 
duty  in  that  line  of  life  in  which  it  shall  please  Providence  to  place 
him.' 

"'A  cabin-boy  on  board  a  mackerel-schooner,'  and  she  covered 
her  face,  and  sobbed  aloud. 

"  'Tim,'  said  he  addressing  me,  'you  must  be  ready  to  start  in  the 
morning,  so  get  your  things  packed  up  ready,  and  I  will  drive  you 
to  the  Capo  myself  in  niy  gig.  You  are  to  go  on  shares,  and  your 
share  will  support  the  family  at  home  a' most,  if  they  use  their  old 
economy.'  ,  "^^ 

"  The  necessary  exertion  to  equip  mo,  amid  tears,  lamentations, 
apprehensions  of  sea  and  shipwreck,  did  her  good.  I  pass  over  the 
parting  scene.  The  old  warden  drove  me  to  the  Cape,  and  put  up 
his  horse  at  an  inn ;  and  then,  taking  me  with  him  to  the  wharf, 
pointed  out  to  me  the  vessel,  and  showed  mo  the  person  I  was  to 
address  as  captain,  and  then  said  he  had  some  business  to  attend  to. 
So  taking  my  bundle  in  my  hand,  and  getting  out  the  letter  of 
introduction  he  had  furnished  me  with,  I  proceeded  on  board,  and 
went  to  the  afterpart  of  the  deck,  where  the  skipper  was.  He  was 
raving  like  a  madman,  something  had  gone  wrong  on  board,  and  ho 
was  stamping  with  rage,  and  swearing  awfully.  I  think  I  may 
safely  say,  that  was  almost  the  first,  last,  and  only  time  in  my  life  X 
was  terrifed.     I  trembled  all  over.     Nursed,  trained,  and  educated 


' 


y      *' 


Ml 


70 


THE    WIDOWS    SON, 


in  a  clergyman's  house,  where  passion  was  never  seen,  nor  oath 
heard,  you  may  well  imagine  my  horror.  Presently  his  eye  caught 
me,  and  ho  gave  mo  the  same  salutation  nearly  he  did  you. 

"  *  Hullo  1  where  the  devil  did  you  come  from,  little  Broadcloth  ? 
and  what  do  you  want  here  V 

«  '  Look  at  this,'  said  I,  '  please,'  handing  him  the  note. 

♦<  <  "What,  another  bill !  I  thought  they  were  all  in  and  paid. 
This  is  from  that  old  cantin'  scoundrel,  "  Praise-the-Lord,"  the 
cheatin*,  swindlin*  old  rascal.  He'll  never  give  over  his  tricks,  till 
I  use  up  his  yard-stick  over  him.  Oh  I'  said  he,  '  so  you  are  young 
Cutler,  arre  you?'  and  all  his  manner  and  tone  of  voice  became 
altered  in  a  minute.  *  A  very  nice,  smart  little  boy ;  and  old  Hun- 
dredth, as  I  call  tfhe  worthy  warden,  tells  me  you  are  a  very  good 
boy,  and  that's  better,  for  pfctty  is  as  pretty  does.  Is  that  all  your 
traps  that  you  have  in  that  bundle  ?' 

"  *  They  aiut  traps.  Sir,'  said  I,  *  they  are  clothes.  The  mink- 
traps,  and  oUcr-traps,  I  left  at  home,  with  brother  Jim.* 

"  Well,  ho  fairly  roared  out  at  that ;  he  put  his  hands  on  his 
sides,  and  laughed  again  and  again.  It  made  me  colour  up  all  over, 
for  I  didn't  know  what  1  had  said  out  of  the  way. 

''  *  Well,  said  he,  a-pattin  me  on  the  shoulder  kindly,  "  we  calls 
clothes  and  other  fixius  'trans'  here,  and  sometimes  'duds,'  for 
shortness.  I  don't  know,'  saii  he,  half  to  himself,  'whether  it  aint 
better  jist  so;     Cuteness   coracs   fast  enough,  and  when  cuteness 


comes,  then  comes  cunning,  and 


cunnmg 


brings  deceit,  and  that 


leads  to  suspicion  and  selfishness,  and  hardens  the  heart,  and  when 
the  heart  is  hardened,  we  are  only  fit  to  be  cut  up  for  bait.  Mink 
and  otter's  traps !  Well,  that's  good.  Now,  son  Timothy,'  said  he, 
<come  below,  and  I'll  show  you  the  old  bear's  den,  and  then  the 
young  cub's  den.' 

"  '  I  should  like  to  see  a  bear,'  said  I,  '  for  I  never  saw  one  in  my 
life;  father  used  to  say  there  hadn't  been  one  near  Barnstable, 
within  the  memory  of  man.     Are  they  very  savage  ?' 

"  *  The  old  one  is,'  he  replied,  laughing,  '  as  savage  as  the  devil ; 
he  is  growlin'  and  snarlin',  and  showin'  his  teeth,  all  the  time  j  the 
young  one's  claws  haint  growed  yet.  This  way,  my  lad,  follow  me,* 
and  he  led  me  down  to  this  very  cabin.  '  Here's  where  we  grub,' 
said  he. 

"  '  Grub  what.  Sir  ?*  said  I,  a-lookin'  round  puzzled,  for  I  saw  no 
weeds,  and  no  tools. 

"  '  Hard  biscuit,  hard  junk,  and  hard  salt-pork,  that's  grub,  my 
boy;  and  the  great  secret  of  life  is  to  learn  to  earn  one's  grub.  Now 
here  is  where  the  old  bear  sleeps,'  opening  the  door  of  that  little 
state-room,  'and  that's  me;  and  there's  where  the  young  cub  sleeps,* 
pointing  to  another,  '  and  that's  you.  Now  go  in  there  and  stow 
away  your  traps,  while  I  give  some  orders  on  business.' 


icks,  till 


mink- 


the 


saw  no 

lb,  my 
Now 
It  little 

^leeps/ 
stow 


THE    widow's    son. 


71 


"  He  then  rancr  the  bell,  and  *01d  Satan,'  as  he  called  him,  came. 

"  *  Come  here,^  said  be,  trying  to  moderate  his  voice,  but  only 
making  it  more  clear,  and  more  audible,  so  that  I  could  not  help 
hearing  what  ho  had  to  say.  *  Did  you  see  that  boy  ?'  said  he. 
*  Well,  do  you  understand  that's  my  son  ?  There's  no  occasion  to 
tell  him  or  any  one  else  that.  He  is  under  your  charge ;  look  after 
him,  and  see  he  don't  get  into  scrapes,  and  that  no  one  imposes  on 
him.  If  anything  goes  wrong,  rejport  it  to  me.  Send  the  mate. 
Mr.  Pike,  when  shall  we  be  ready  vds  sea  V 

"  '  First  wind.  Sir,  after  twelve  to-morrow/ 

"  *  That's  right,  carry  on  with  all  your  force,  for  we  are  a-going  to 
have  a  fine  run  of  it,  by  all  appearance." 

"  '  I  rather  guess  so,  too,'  said  he. 

"  After  a  littU  \/hile  he  called  me.  '  Timothy,'  said  he,  *  come 
here.' 

" '  Yes,  Sir.' 

*'  *  Get  your  hat,  and  go  ashore  with  me  to  '  Old  Praise- the-Lord.' 

"  He  set  my  teeth  a-jar  by  that  expression  ;  it  was  irreverent.  1 
had  never  heard  such  language,  and  such  is  the  advantage  and  fore* 
of  early  training,  that  to  this  day  thosfc  expressions,  though  my  ear 
is  hardened,  and  my  delicacy  blunted  much,  are,  thank  God,  s^tf 
offensive  to  me.  ii'^  took  me  to  a  shop  filled  with  fish,  cheese^ 
honey,  candles,  8Gc*^<  u)bacco,  slop-clothing,  liquors  of  all  kinds,  and 
everything  that  is  requisite  to  fit  out  sailors  or  vessels.  It  smelt 
very  oiFensively,  and  looked  dirty;  the  air  was  so  foul  that  it  was 
manifest  all  the  ventilation  the  apartment  had  ever  received,  was  by 
the  door,  when  open. 

"  As  we  entered,  a  small,  thin  man  emerged  from  behind  enor- 
mous coils  of  tarred  rope,  piled  one  on  top  of  the  other.  It  was 
Elder  Jedediah  Figg.  He  was  dressed  in  a  rusty  suit  of  black,  and 
wore  a  dirty  white  neckcloth,  tied  behind,  while  his  oily  hair  was 
brushed  down  straight  on  his  head  and  neck ;  he  had  a  very  sly,  but 
prim,  sanctimonious  appearance. 

"  '  Well,  brother  Jed,'  said  the  skipper,  *  how  are  you,  and  how's 
times  with  you  ?" 

"  '  Not  well,  not  well,  capting,  I  am  troubled  with  the  rheumatiz 
dreadful,  lately,  and  the  times  is  poor,  very  poor — praise  the  Lord.' 

"  '  Well,  you  have  reason  to  praise  him,  you  old  yaller  sadducee,' 
said  he ;  *  jfor  \ohen  grasshoppers  are  so  plenty  as  to  mahe  the  pas- 
tures poor,  i/obhlers  grow  fat.  Hard  times  is  what  you  thrive  in; 
when  the  ponds  dry  up,  the  pokes  get  the  pollywugs.  Here,  fit  out 
this  boy  with  a  complete  suit  of  oiled  cotton  water-proof,  a  pair  of 
thick  boots,  and  a  nor'-wester:  besides  these,  he'll  want  a  pea-jacket, 
four  flann3l  shirts,  and  four  check  ones.  Put  these  into  a  small 
sea-chest,  and  stow  away  in  it,  a  mate's  blank-book,  a  slate,  and  some 
paper  and  quills.     Send  it  aboard  to-night  by  six  o'clock.* 


72 


THE    WIDOWS    SON. 


L„ 


m  >.^i 


I;' 5) 


"  '  Who  is  a-goiti'  to  pay  for  'em  ?' 

"  '  I  am/  said  the  captain. 

"  '  IVaiso  tho  Lord,'  .said  Jododiali. 

"  '  ].)oirt  forgo  ahead  that  wa}',  old  boy,  or  you  may  got  a-grouud 
afore  you  know  whore  you  be.  I'll  advance  the  money  for  his  mo- 
tlier,  and  she  is  as  poor  as  a  hen  partridge  that's  a  hatchiu'  eggs.' 

"  '  Praise  tho  Lord,'  said  Jedediah. 

"  '  Now  let  me  see  the  bill  is  all  done  at  lov/est  possible  cash 
price,  or  I'll  keep  tho  goods,  and  let  you  fish  for  the  pay.' 

"  *  I'll  put  tlinm  below  first  cost/  said  ho,  *  I'll  lose  by  them  all  I 
can  afford.     I^'aise  the  Lord.' 

"'What  an  evcrlastin'  lie/  said  the  skipper,  'what  a  hypocrita 
you  be,  Jed,'  returning  to  the  counter;  'if  ever  you  dare  to  talk  t^ 
me  that  way  agin,  I'll  flay  you  alive.  I  shouldn't  mind  your  rippiu' 
out  an  oath  or  two  now  and  then,  for  thunder  will  burst,  and  it 
clears  the  air — tho'  s^•carin'  is  as  well  let  alone,  when  you  can  help 
it  —  but  crntin',  whynin',  textin',  and  psalmin',  when  a  man  n»cans 
trickery  —  oh  !  it's  the  devil !' 

"I  didn't  sleep  much  that  night;  I  was  home-sick  and  heart-sick. 
Two  things  troubled  me  greatly,  upon  which  I  wanted  explanation. 
The  first  was,  he  claimed  to  be  my  father.  Why  was  the  secret  kept 
from  me  ?  Secondly,  ho  bougiit  all  this  outfit  at  my  mother's  ex- 
pense, and  spoke  very  disi'cpectfully  of  her,  sayin'  she  was  as  poor 
as  an  old  hen  partridge.  What  mystery  is  this?  I  resolved  when 
I  saw  the  warden  to  open  my  heart  to  him.  So  as  soon  as  I  got  up 
I  asked  leave  to  go  and  see  him. 

"Yes,'  said  he,  'go  and  welcome,  but  be  back  by  ten  o'clock,  for 
we  shall  sail  at  one,  and  you  must  learn  how  a  vessel  is  got  under 
way.     Have  you  got  any  money  in  your  pocket  V 

" '  No,  Sir.'' 

"  '  Do  you  want  any  ?'  ' 

"'No,  Sir;  I  never  had  any,  and  have  no  use  for  it.' 

" '  That's  right,  be  prudent,  and  never  be  under  an  obligation  to 
anybody;  and  above  all  things,  always  speak  the  truth,  your  word 
must  be  your  bond  through  life.  Well,'  sais  he,  '  we  always  advance 
to  the  hands  for  outfit,  if  they  want  it.  Here  are  two  dollars,  on 
account  of  your  share  of  the  airnings,  and  if  you  don't  want  uothin', 
buy  some  little  things  that  your  mother  likes,  and  let  Old  Hundredth 
tiike  them  to  her.  Always  rcmcuiber  her  after  every  cruise ;  you 
must  support  that  family  at  present.     Now,  make  tracks.' 

"  Well,  his  words  sunk  deep  into  my  heart,  especially  what  he  said 
about  truth.  'Then  this  man  is  my  father,'  said  I;  and  I  went  sor- 
rowing on  my  way. 

"The  warden  was  alone  at  breakfiist  when  I  entered. 

" '  Mr.  Chase/  said  I,  '  who  is  Captaiu  Love,  is  he  any  relation  of 
mine  ?' 


THE    widow's    son 


7* 


^) 


ranee 

',  on 

thin', 

redth 

you 

said 

sor- 


"Not  that  I  know/  said  he,  'I  never  heard  of  it.  But  why  dc 
you  ask  ?' 

"  AVcll,  I  repeated  to  him  all  the  conversation  T  had  hoard  between 
him  and  the  cook,  and  told  him  how  distressed  1  was  at  it. 

"Oh/  said  lie,  'that  was  an  expression  of  kindness,  that's  all; 
you  know  it  is  ligarativc  language.' 

"  I  then  told  him  the  story  of  the  outfit,  and  the  way  he  spoke  of 
my  mother. 

" '  He  has  no  discretion  in  his  talk  sometimes,'  said  the  warden, 
'but  he  was  joking  only.  Figg  understood  that,  it's  a  present  to 
you,  only  he  didn't  want  to  be  bothered  with  thanks.  Behave  well, 
Timothy.  That  man  is  able  and  willing  to  serve  you,  he  has  taken 
a  fancy  to  you.  I  think  your  father  rendered  him,  many  years  ago, 
an  important  service,  without  inconveniencing  himself.  He  referred 
to  somethin'  of  the  kind  in  his  letter  to  me,  when  I  applied  to  him 
to  take  you,  but  I  don't  know  what  it  was.' 

"  '  Well,  here's  the  two  dollars.  Sir,'  said  I,  '  will  you  give  them 
to  my  mother,  with  my  love  1" 

"'No,'  said  he,  'anybody  can  send  money;  but  you  must  not 
only  do  that,  but  take  trouble  besides :  it's  very  grateful,  such  little 
attentions.  Buy  something  for  her — tea,  coffee,  and  sugar,  how 
would  that  do?' 

"  There  aint  a  spoonful  in  the  house.* 

"  '  Then  we'll  get  them;  give  mo  the  money,  and  I'll  go  to  an  old 
parishioner  of  your  fatlier's  that  will  be  glad  to  make  the  two  dol- 
lars do  four  dollars'  work.  Now  good-bye,  my  boy,  take  care  of  your 
conduct,  and  depend  upon  it  Providence  will  take  care  of  you.' 

"  The  second  day  after  we  sailed.  As  we  sat  to  dinner,  '  Tim,' 
sais  he,  '  do  you  know  what  a  lof'  is,  and  how  many  kinds  there  be.' 

" '  Two,  Sir,'  sais  I;  '  there'?  the  back  log  and  the  back  stick.' 

" '  Creation,'  said  he,  '  I  wonder  if  ever  I  was  as  soft  as  that,  I 
don't  believe  it  as  far  as  I  can  remember;  sartainly  not  since  I  was 
knee  high,  at  any  rate.  A  log  is  a  ship's  journal,  my  son,  the  mate 
keeps  it,  and  you  must  copy  it,  there  is  a  book  in  your  chest  for  the 
purpose,  it  will  show  you  that  part  of  his  duty.  Now,  do  you  know 
what  throwing  a  log  is?' 

" '  I  suppose  it  means  when  you  have  no  further  use  of  it,  throw 
ing  it  overboard.' 

"  '  Weil,  you  were  not  so  far  out  that  time.  It  is  a  small  piece  of 
wood*"  attached  to  a  line,  which  is  thrown  overboard,  when  the  vessel 
is  ijoing,  and  this  line  has  knots,  each  of  which  denotes  a  mile,  and 
that  is  throwin'  the  log,  and  settin'  down  tliese  distances  is  called 
koepiu'  the  log.    Now,'  said  he,  '  make  yourself  master  of  tlie  names 


of 


*  First  called  a  lo^  in  Irelaud 


w 


74 


THE    widow's    son. 


m. 


& 


of  the  ropes,  and  spars,  and  rifi;gin',  and  all  sea  tarins ;  but  never  ask 
a  man  that's  busy,  and  never  talk  to  the  man  at  the  helm.' 

"  I  mention  these  little  things,  not  that  there  is  any  intrinsic 
interest  in  them,  but  to  show  you  how  minute  his  kindness  has  been. 
We  were  five  weeks  gone.  On  my  return  he  sent  me  to  see  my 
mother,  and  sent  her  a  cheque  for  fifty  dollars,  for  what  he  called  my 
sliare. 

" '  Fetch  your  books  when  you  come  back,'  sais  he,  '  with  you,  all 
kinds,  Latin  and  Greek  that  you  did  lam,  and  travels  and  voyages 
that  you  haute  larned,  and  improve  your  mind.  You  cant  lam  too 
much,  if  you  don't  larn  tricks.' 

"  In  this  way  I  have  gone  on  ever  since,  always  receiving  far  moro 
than  my  share  for  my  services ;  and  now  I  am  to  be  advanced  to  the 
command  of  a  whaler.  I  have  neglected  no  opportunity  according 
to  his  advice,  of  acquiring  information,  and  continuing  my  study  of 
languages.  I  put  James  thro'  Cambridge,  and  he  has  removed  to 
Boston,  where  he  is  just  about  conmiencing  law.  Mother  has  Imd 
her  schemes  of  ambition  all  revived  in  him.  He  took  a  degree  with 
honours ;  he  promises  to  make  a  figure  at  the  bar ;  and  she  thinks 
those  other  prizes  in  the  lottery  of  life — a  seat  in  Congress,  a  secre- 
taryship, and  tlic  presidential  chair,  are  held  in  store  yet  by  Provi- 
dence for  the  Widow's  Son." 


CHAPTER   VII. 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  MACKEREL. 


The  next  mornin',  just  at  the  early  dawn  of  day,  I  heard  the  Cap- 
ting  jump  out  of  bed,  and  as  I  don't  like  to  be  caught  nappin',  I 
outs  too,  puts  my  clothes  on  as  quick  as  wink,  and  gets  into  the  cabin 
before  he  and  the  mate  made  their  appearance.  I  sat  down  to  the 
table,  took  up  his  "patent  jigger,"  to  sec  if  I  could  contrive  the 
"snaps"  for  it;  and  was  a-workin'  it  upwards  and  downwards  to  see 
what  it  wanted,  when  he  came  in. 

"What,  up  already^"  said  the  Captain.  "Well,  you  are  a  racl 
New  Euglander,  for  'Yankees  and  weasels  aint  often  caught  nap- 
pin.'  "  ^ 

"  *  It'^  the  early  bird  that  gets  the  worm'  Capting,"  sais  I. 

"Exactly,"  sais  he,  "and  so  it  is  with  the  macarel  catch  too;  it's 
first  come  first  served  in  the  fisheries.  But,  Matey,  let's  go  on  deck 
and  see  what  chance  there  is  of  a  wind." 

"It's  a  dead  calm/'  said  he,  when  he  returned,  "and  there  will 


THE  LANGUAGE  GT  MACKEREL. 


75 


)m',  I 
cabin 
I  to  the 
iQ  the 
I  to  see 

racl 
nap- 


|j  it'a 
deck 

will 


be  no  breeze  until  twelve  o'clock ;  and  then,  if  it  does  come,  it  will 
be,  as  fair  as  it  can  blow,  east  south-east  half-east ;  it's  like  the  crew, 
late  a-gettin'  up  to-day  j  but  it  will  be  along  here  byme  bye." 

"Capting,"  sais  I,  "I  have  got  it.  You  know  I  am  a  clock- 
maker,  and  know  a  little  about  machinery  ?" 

"What  the  plague  don't  you  know  something  about,  Mr.  Slick?" 
said  he. 

"Well,"  saia  I,  ••!  don't  know  much  about  anything,  that's  a 
fact,  for  I'm  a  sort  of  Jack  of  all  trades,  and  msster  of  none;  but 
I  have  some  wrinkles  on  my  horn  for  all  that,  for  I  warn't  born  yes- 
terday." 

"I  guess  not,"  said  he,  "nor  the  first  flood  tide  before  that 
neither." 

"  Looke  here,  Capting,"  sais  I,  and  I  pulled  the  cord  and  drew 
up  the  arms  of  the  jigger ;  "  now,"  sais  I,  "  put  a  spring  on  the 
shank,  on  the  back  of  the  centre  bar,  exactly  like  the  springs  of  an 
umbrella,  with  the  same  sort  of  groove  for  it  to  play  in,  as  the  handle 
of  that  has,  and  the  jigger  is  complete." 

^"I  see  it,"  sais  he,  jumpiu'  up  and  snappin'  his  fingers.  "I  see 
it,  it's  complete ;  it's  rael  jam  up  that.  That's  a  great  invention, 
Mr.  Slick,  is  that  jigger,  that  and  my  bait-cutter,  and  the  dodge  I 
discovered  of  makin'  the  macarel  rise  to  the  surface,  and  follow  me 
like  a  pack  of  dogs,  will  cause  old  Blowhard's  name  to  be  remem- 
bered as  long  as  the  fisheries  are  carried  on.  I'll  explain  that  dodge 
to  you.  You  know  we  can't  fish  lawfully  within  three  leagues  of 
the  shore.  Well,  the  macarel  are  chiefly  inside  of  that,  and  there 
they  be  as  safe  as  a  thief  in  a  mill.  The  Bluenoses  are  too  ever- 
lastin'  lazy  to  catch  'em,  and  we  can't  get  at  'em  without  the  risk  of 
being  nabbed  and  losin'  vessel  and  all.  So  I  set  my  wits  a  thinkin', 
and  I  invented  a  bait-cutter ;  see,  .here  is  one,"  and  he  opened  a 
locker  and  took  oat  a  box  fitted  with  a  handle  like  a  coffee-mill,  and 
having  a  cylinder  stuck  full  of  sharp  blades,  that  cut  the  bait  with 
rapidity  and  ease  into  minute  particles.  "  Now,"  sais  he,  "  I  just 
sails  along  in  shore  like — for  there  is  no  harm  in  that,  as  long  as  you 
don't  fish  there  —  and  throw  the  bait  over,  and  the  fish  rise  to  the 
surface,  and  follow  me  to  the  right  distance;  and  then  we  at  'em, 
and  in  with  'em  like  wink.  I  have  sailed  afore  now  right  alongside 
of  a  great  long  seine,  and  taken  the  whole  shoal  away.  Creation ! 
how  Bluenose  used  to  stare  when  he  seed  me  do  that !  One  of  'em 
came  on  board  the  '  Old  Eagle '  onct,  and  said  he,  '  Oh !  Capting, 
how  on  airth  do  you  raise  the  fish  from  the  bottom  that  way,  when 
no  human  bein'  could  tell  there  was  one  there.  I'll  give  you  a  hun- 
dred dollars  for  that  are  secret,  cash  down  on  the  nail.' 

"Well,  you  know  it  wouldn't  do  to  sell  secrets  to  benighted 
foreigners  that  way,  it  would  make  them  grow  kind  of  sarsy.  So  I 
always  try  to  put  'em  ofif,  and  at  the  same  time  take  a  rise  out  of 


76 


THE    LANOUAQE    OF     MACKEREL. 


n 

I;  iii^-^ 


|s:,f 


IK 


«i 


'era.  So,  sais  T,  *  friend,  it  would  be  a  siu  and  a  shame  to  take  your 
property  for  notliin'  that  way ;  it  would  bo  as  bad  as  your  wreckers 
about  your  sow-sow-west  shore.  It's  a  simple  thing,  and  I'll  tell  it 
to  3'ou  for  nothin'.' 

'''Captain,'  sais  the  critter,  lookin*  wide  awake  for  once,  and  so 
excited  as  actilly  to  take  his  hands  out  of  his  trousers'  pockets,  where 
he  had  kept  'em,  since  the  week  afore,  except  at  meal-hours  and  bed- 
time, out  of  pure  laziness,  'now  that's  what  I  call  clever,  and  I 
don't  mind  if  I  go  below  and  take  a  glass  of  grog  with  you  on  the 
strength  of  it.'  And  one  thing  I  must  say  for  the  critters,  if  they 
are  lazy — and  there's  no  denyin'  that  —  they  ain't  bashful;  that's  a 
Yankee  word  they  never  heard  on. 

" '  Well,'  sais  I,  '  I  ought  to  have  thought  of  that  myself,  that's  a 
fact.  Come  let's  go  below,  for  I  don't  want  everyone  to  hear  it,  if 
it  is  so  simple.'  Well,  I  takes  him  into  the  cabin,  shuts  to  the  door, 
places  the  liquor  on  the  table,  and  draws  up  close,  to  be  confidential. 

*  Take  a  pull  at  that  are  particular  old  Bosting  domestic  rum/  sais  I. 
'  It's  some  I  keep  on  purpose  for  treating  them  gentlemen  to,  Mr. 
Slick ;  it's  made  of  the  lyo  of  wood-ashes,  sweetened  with  molasses, 
and  has  some  vitriol  in  it,  to  give  it  spirit ;  it's  beautiful  stuff  for 
them  that  likes  it.     It's   manufactored  by  that  pious   old  rascal, 

*  Praise-the-Lord.'  The  old  villain  got  the  other  distillers  at  the 
Cape  to  jine  the  temperance  society  with  him,  so  as  to  have  things 
his  own  way,  and  then  sot  to  a  brcwin'  this  stuff;  and  when 
hauled  over  the  coals  for  sellin'  liquor,  sais  he,  '  It's  neither  rum, 
nor  brandy,  nor  gin,  nor  whiskey,'  and  so  he  ran  on  through  the 
whole  catelogue  that's  in  their  oaths,  '  nor  distilled,  nor  farmented 
liquors,  nor  anything  tetotallized  agin,  but  just  an  anti-cholic  cordial, 
praise  the  Lord  1' 

"  '  Capting,'  sais  Bluenose,  '  that's  the  rael  thing,  that  are  a  fact. 
It  ain't  reduced.  What  we  buy  along  shore  here  is  half  water  and 
half  rum,  and  scarcely  that;  we  are  so  cheated  by  them  that  gets 
our  fish.     It's  pee-owcrful,  that's  sartain.' 

"  '  Pce-owerful,'  sais  I,  'I  guess  it  is;  it  wouldn't  take  much  of 

*  that  to  give  weak  eyes  and  a  sore  throat,  I  can  tell  you.  Fire  will 
burn,  unless  you  keep  it  down  with  water.' 

"  '  Well,'  sais  he,  'ain't  you  agoin'  to  drink  yourself?' 
"<I  guess  not,'  sais  I;  'I  don't  calculate  in  a  general  way  to 
drink  except  at  meal-times.' 

'"What,'  said  he,  'don't  you  take  a  mornin'  fiicer?' 

" '  No.' 

'"Nor  an  appetizer?' 

"'No.' 

"'Nor  a  better  luck  still?' 

"'No.' 

" '  Well,  well !'  sais  he,  'if  that  don't  pass,  and  you  all  the  tima 


THE  LANOUAOE  OP  MACKEREL. 


77 


Lavincr  it  siandi 


the  locker !     You 


■when 


i:i  fact, 
iv  and 
it  gets 

[ch  of 
fe  will 


ray  to 


i(  i 


time 


30  invitin'  alongside  of  you 
lougli  sometimes,  don't  you  V 
Sometimes  I  do/  sais  I,  'wlien  I  think  on  it,  but  I  forget  it 
as  often  aa  not.     Now,'  sais  I, '  I'll  tell  you  the  secret,'  for  I  got  tired 
of  this  long  lockrum  about  nothin' ;  '  but,*  sais  I,  'before  I  give  it  to 
you,  will  you  promise  me  you  will  try  it?' 

" '  Oh  yes,'  sais  he,  '  I  will,  and  only  be  too  glad  to  try  it.* 

"  '  Will  you  try  it  at  onct,'  sais  I,  '  so  that  I  can  see  you  onder- 
fctand  how  to  go  about  it  ?' 

"  '  I  will,'  sais  he. 

"  Well,  that  being  settled,  we  shook  hands  on  it,  and,  sais  I : 

"  '  There  is  nothin'  easier  in  natur'.  Get  into  a  diver's  suit,  be 
letdown  gently  in  among  the  mackerel,  and  larn  their  lingo;  and 
then  you  can  call  them,  and  they'll  follow  you  like  dogs.  I  soon 
picked  it  up  :  it's  very  easy.' 

"  '  What !  iish  talk  ?'  sais  he.  *  Come,  I  aint  quite  so  green.  Who 
ever  heard  the  like  o'  that,  as  fish  talkin'  ?' 

" '  Aye,  my  man,'  sais  I,  '  and  larfin'  too.  Did  you  ever  see  a 
ripplin'  on  the  water  like  air-bubbles,  when  a  shoal  of  fish  rises?' 

"  'Often,'  sais  he.     '  The  water  bubbles  up  like  beer  in  a  tumbler.' 

"'Well,'  sais  I,  'that's  the  fish  u  larfin'  at  some  odd  old  fellow's 
story.  I  never  would  have  thought  it  possible  they  were  such  a 
merry  set,  if  I  hadn't  a  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes,  and  the  fondest 
of  a  joke  you  ever  see.  They  are  a  takin'  a  rise  out  of  some  young 
goney  now,  depend  upon  it,  judgin'  by  the  bubbles  there  is  on  the 
water.  Onct  when  I  was  down  among  them,  they  sent  a  yeungster 
dS"  to  invite  a  cod  to  come  and  sup  witli  them.  As  soon  as  the  old 
fellow  saw  him,  out  he  goes  to  meet  him,  gallows  polite,  and  swal- 
lers  him  down  like  wink.  Creation  !  how  the  whole  shoal  larfed  at 
the  way  the  goney  was  sold.' 

'"Well,  well!'  sais  he,  'that  beats  all,  that's  a  fact.  Fish 
talkin' !     Is  it  possible  ?' 

"  'Don't  you  know  that  crows  talk?'  sais  I. 

"'Well,'  sais  he, 'I  do.  I've  seen  that  myself.  Many  a  long 
day  I've  laid  down  in  our  pasture,  a-stretched  out  at  full  length,  a 
watchin'  the  vessels  pass,  and  obsarvin'  the  action  of  the  crows.' 

"  '  Hard  work  that,  warn't  it?'  sais  I. 

"  '  Well,'  sais  he,  '  if  you  was  made  to  do  it,  I  suppose  it  would 
be;  but  I  liked  it,  and  what  you  like  aint  hard.  I'll  just  help 
myself  to  a  little  more  of  that  cordial,  for  I  like  it  too.  Well,  I 
have  heard  the  crows  talk  to  each  other,  and  seen  them  plant  sentries 
out  when  they  seed  me  a  watchin'  of  them,  and  once  I  actilly  saw 
them  hold  a  court-martial.  The  old  veterans  came  from  all  the  ports 
about  here,  and  from  all  the  islands,  and  bluffs  and  shores,  up  and 
down;    and  the  culprit  huug  his  head  down,  and  looked  foolish 

enough,  you  may  depend.    What  he  had  done,  I  don't  know.    Whe- 

7* 


M 


ra 


THE  LANQUAQE  OF  MACKEREL, 


P 

I'' 
I  if 


Iher  he  had  run  off  with  another  crow's  wife,  or  stole  a  piece  of  meat, 
or  went  to  sleep  when  ho  was  on  guard,  or  what,  I  don't  know,  but 
artcr  consultin'  together,  they  turned  to  and  fell  on  him,  and  killed 
him,  and  then  adjourned  the  court  and  dispersed;  that's  a  natural 
fact.  And  now  wo  are  on  the  subject,'  said  he,  *  I'll  tell  you  another 
thing  I  once  seed.  There  were  some  seals  used  to  come  ashore  last 
summer  at  my  place,  sometimes  singly,  and  sometimes  in  pairs. 
Well,  at  that  time  I  was  out  of  powder;  and  I  don't  know  how  it  is 
with  you,  Capting,  but  it  seems  to  me  when  I  get  out  of  things,  that's 
the  very  identical  time  I  wants  'em  most.  Well,  the  store  is  a 
matter  of  two  miles  off,  and  I  was  waitin'  for  some  of  my  neighbours 
to  bo  a  goin'  that  way  to  send  for  some,  so  I  had  an  opportunity  to 
watch  them  several  days,  and  it's  a  natural  fact,  I'm  going  to  tell 
you.  Them  and  the  gulls  kind  of  knocked  up  an  acquaintance  con- 
siderable intimate.  Well,  at  last  the  powder  came,  and  I  loaded  my 
gun  and  sneaked  along  on  all-fours  to  get  a  shot  at  a  fellow  that  was 
dozin'  there ;  and  just  as  I  got  to  about  the  correct  distance,  what 
do  you  think  ?  a  cus.sed  gull  that  was  a  watchin'  of  me,  guessed  what 
I  was  about,  scud  off  to  the  seals  like  wink,  and  gave  such  a  scream 
in  the  critter's  ear  as  ho  sailed  over  him,  that  he  jumped  right  up 
with  fright,  and  goes  kerwallop  head  over  ears  into  the  water  in  no 
time;  that's  a  natural  fact.' 

"  '  Why,  in  course,'  sais  I,  '  there's  a  voice  in  all  natur'.  Every- 
thin'  talks  from  a  woman  down  to  a  crow,  and  from  a  crow  to  a 
mackerel.     I  believe  your  story  of  the  crows.* 

"  '  I'll  swear  to  it,'  sais  he. 

"'You  needn't  swear  to  it,'  sais  I;  'I  believe  it,  and  besides  I 
never  swear  to  any  o'  my  stories ;  it  makes  swearin'  too  cheap.' 

"  *  Well,'  sais  he,  '  seein'  that  crows  talk,  I  believe  that  story  of 
the  fish  too;  it  must  be  so,  else  how  could  they  all  keep  together? 
but  I  must  say  it's  the  strangest  siory  I  ever  heard  since  I  was  born, 
and  opened  my  ears  and  heard.    It  does  sound  odd,  but  I  believe  it.' 

"  *  Well  then  take  another  drop  of  that  cordial,  for  you  might  feel 
cold.' 

« '  Oh,  no !'  said  he,  '  I  don't  feel  cold  a  bit.' 

"  *  But  you  might  by  and  bye,'  said  I ;  but  the  critter  didn't  see 
what  I  was  at. 

" '  Come  let's  go  on  deck,'  sais  I ;  *  and  John  Brown,'  sais  I, 
*  bring  up  the  diven'  dress.  Jim  Lynch,  fetch  the  leads,  and  fasten 
them  on  to  this  gentleman's  feet;  and  do  you  hear  there,  Noah 
Cofl5n,  reave  an  inch-rope  through  the  eye  of  the  studden-sail-boom 
— be  quick — bear  a  hand  there;  we  are  just  on  the  right  spot.' 

"  *  For  what  ?'  said  Blue-nose. 

"  *  For  puttin'  you  into  the  divin'  dress  and  throwen  you  overboard 
to  lam  your  first  lesson,  in  the  mackerel  language.' 

« <  Why,  capting,'  sais  he,  a-edjia'  off  slowly,  and  his  eyes  glazen^ 


^' 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  MACKEREL 


79 


I't  see 

sais  I, 

1  fasten 

Noah 

l-booin 


like  a  wild  cat  tliat\s  a  f.icin'  of  the  dogs;  'why,  capting,  you  aint 
agoin'  to  force  mo  wlietlicr  I  will  or  no.' 

" '  That's  the  bargain,'  sais  I.  '  Bear  a  hand,  boys,  and  see  if 
you  aint  overboard  in  no  time.' 

"  I  took  one  step  forward,  as  if  about  to  catch  him,  when  he  put 
a  hand  on  the  taffrail,  sprang  into  his  boat,  and  pushed  oiF  in  a 
minute,  and  rowed  ashore  like  mad. 

"  What  a  pity  it  is,  Mr.  Slick,  that  such  a  fine  race  of  men  as 
these  Nova  Scotiaus  should  be  so  besotted  by  politics  as  they  are. 
They  expect  England  to  do  every  thin'  for  'em,  build  railroads,  and 
canals,  and  docks,  and  what  not,  and  then  coax  them  to  travel  by 
them,  or  use  them,  while. they  lay  in  the  field,  stretched  out  at  full 
length,  and  watch  crows  like  that  chap,  or  bask  in  the  sun  day  arter 
day,  and  talk  about  sponsible  government,  and  rail  agin  every 
sponsible  man  in  the  colony.  33ut  that's  their  look  out,  and  not 
ourn,  only  I  wish  they  would  improve  the  country  better  before  we 
come  and  take  it. 

"  Now,  I'll  show  you  the  use  of  that  ere  jigger.  A  man  who 
goes  a-fishin'  should  know  the  habits  and  natur'  of  the  fish  he  is 
after,  or  he  had  better  stay  to  home.  All  fish  have  different  habits, 
and  are  as  much  onlike  as  the  Yankees  and  Blue-noses  be.  Now 
there  is  the  shad,  I  believe  they  have  no  ears,  for  they  don't  mind 
noises  a  bit;  and  when  a  feller  is  hard  a-hearin',  we  say  he  is  as 
deaf  as  a  shad ;  but  they  see  well,  and  you  can't  catch  'em  easy 
enough  with  the  hook  to  make  it  worth  while.  Now  the  mackerel 
don't  see  very  plain.  There's  a  kind  of  film  comes  on  their  eyes  in 
winter  that  makes  them  half-blind,  and  then  drops  off'  as  summer 
comes.  Natur',  to  counteract  it,  has  made  their  hearin'  very  cute, 
and  their  infirmity  of  sight  makes  them  very  shy  and  timid-like.  I 
have  actilly  seen  a  shoal  of  them  when  they  have  got  into  an  inlet, 
kept  there  by  two  or  three  boats  stationed  at  the  entrance,  with  the 
crew  in  'em  a-splashin'  in  the  water  with  their  oars.  The  moment 
they  heard  that,  down  they  went  to  the  bottom,  and  stayed  there 
until  they  were  all  scooped  out  with  nets — fact,  I  assure  you. 

"  Now  the  use  of  that  jigger  will  be  when  the  fish  are  brought  up 
to  the  surface,  it  can  be  let  into  the  water  easy  without  frighteniu' 
of  them;  and  when  it's  drawn  up,  its  arms  will  be  full  of  fish. 
The^e  are  things  that  must  be  studied  out.  Every  created  critter 
has  an  instinct  for  self-preservation.  If  you  would  catch  them,  you 
must  set  your  reason  to  work  j  and  as  that  is  stronger  than  instinct, 
if  you  go  the  right  way  about  it,  you  will  circumvent  them  in  the 
»iend. 

"  But  come,  let's  liquor,  the  sun  is  getrin'  over  the  foreyard,  aa 
we  sailors  say.  Slick,  here's  your  good  health.  I  say,  that  warn't 
a  bad  rise,  was  it  ?  I  took  out  of  Blue-nose  about  *  the  language  of 
mackerel.' " 


m 


80 


THE    BEST     NATURED 


OHAPTEE  VIIL 


THE  BEST  NATURED  MAN  IN  THE  WORLD. 


■i3 
1 


Finding  the  captain  really  good  naturod  now,  I  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  attending  to  the  duties  of  the  office  I  had  accepted,  pro- 
duced and  read  to  him  my  commission  and  instructions,  and  asked 
his  advice  as  to  the  mode  and  manner  of  executing  it. 

"Silently,  Mr.  Slick,"  he  replied,  as  the  Puritan  minister  said  to 
the  barber  who  asked  him  how  he  would  be  shaved ;  ^  silently,  Sir,' 
sais  he.  '  Do  it  as  quietly  as  you  can.'  On  business,  men  arc  on 
their  guard :  in  converpatiou,  confidential.  Folks  don't  like  to  be 
examined  by  a  public  officer,  they  don't  Inow  tlie  drift  of  it  exactly, 
and  aint  quite  sartitled,  rhey  wont  be  overhauled  for  their  doins  and 
get  themselves  iuto  a  fix.  Right  without  might  don't  avail  much, 
and  authority  without  power  to  force  obedience,  is  like  a  boat  without 
oars,  it  can't  go  ahead.  I  wouldn't,  if  I  was  you,  let  every  one 
know  what  your  main  object  was  :  if  you  do,  you  will  get  more  plans 
than  facts,  and  more  advice  than  information." 

He  then  entered  minutely  into  the  description  of  the  fisheries, 
their  extent,  the  manner  in  wliich  they  were  carried  on,  and  the  im- 
provements they  were  cnpable  of,  furnished  lue  with  a  vast  deal  of 
useful  information,  and  gave  mo  the  names  of  the  persons  on  the 
coast  I  was  to  pump  dry,  as  he  called  it.  He  also  gave  me  some 
tables  and  calculations  he  hud  made  on  the  subject,  which  he  had 
privately  prepared  for  Mr.  Adams  some  time  «ince. 

"  These  figures  and  details  wont  interest  you  much,  Squire,  for 
you  hante  a  turn  that  way,  and  beside  it  aint  our  custom,  as  it  is  in 
England,  to  publish  everything  in  newspapers,  that  our  publioijuen 
or  national  departments  are  doin'  for  the  country.  Blartin'  out  a 
discovery  afore  you  take  a  patent  may  help  others,  but  it  keeps  you 
poor.  But  I  must  say  this,  neither  your  folks,  nor  ourn,  know  the 
vast  importance  of  these  fisheries,  though  we  arc  a  more  wide  a^^ake 
people  than  [jrovincials  be.  That  ivMch  made  Amsterdam  ought  to 
make  Halifax.'^ 

I  knew  Blowhard  had  great  experience,  but  I  liad  no  idea,  what 
a  clear  head  and  enlarged  views  he  had.  It  don't  do  to  judge  men 
by  their  appearance,  and  conversation  is  more  than  hcdf  the  time  a 
refuge  from  thought  or  a  blind  to  conceal  if. 

Having  fixed  this  matter  up  snug,  sais  I,  "  Cnptin,  I  have  come 
here  on  a  very  disagreeable  business,  and  I  want  your  advice  and 
assistance.    That  vessel  a  layia'  outside  there  is  the  '  Black  Hawk/  " 


MAN    IN    THE    WORLD 


81 


leries, 
im- 
alof 
tho 
some 
had 

,  for 
IS  in 

nen 
out  a 

you 

'  tho 

jyake 

\ht  to 

chat 
[men 
\ne  (I 

kome 

aii-l 
>  >t 


"I  know  it,"  he  said,  "I  could  toll  her  auiong  a  thousand;  next 
to  the  *  Eagle'  she  is  tho  most  beautiful  craft  of  the  whole  American 
mackerel  fleet" 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "  the  skipper  has  gone  mad." 

"  Mad,"  said  he,  and  the  word  seemed  to  annoy  him,  ''not  a  bit 
of  it — odd  like  a  little,  perhaps,  but  a  good  sailor  I  warrant :  mad, 
hay  !  Why  they  say  I  am  mad,  juf-t  cause  I  go  where  others  darsent 
follow  me,  and  keep  order  and  will  have  it  on  board ;  I  am  the  best 
natured  man  living." 

At  that  moment  the  cook  made  his  appearance  accompanied  by 
tha  cabin  boy,  to  whom  he  gave  some  instruction  about  the  table, 
The  instant  131owhard  saw  the  former,  he  suddenly  boiled  over  with 
rage  and  looked  the  very  picture  of  a  madman, 

**  Come  here,  you  old  Lucifer,"  said  he,  "  or  I'll  make  the  whites 
of  your  two  great  goggle  eyes  the  same  colour  as  your  face,  black  as 
midnight." 

"Tank  you,  massa,"  said  the  negro,  holding  the  door  in  his  hand, 
"  but  you  mad  now,  and  I  berry  busy  gettiu'  dinner  ready ;  you  said 
half  past  eleben,  and  it  is  just  gone  eleben,  and  I  see  the  breeze  off 
Ragged  Island." 

"  Eleven,  you  villain,"  said  the  captain,  "  I  wish  I  could  get  my 
paw  upon  you ;  it's  half  past  now." 

"Oh,  massa  Commodore,  you  mad  now;  just  look  at  are  ole 
crometer  turnip  of  yourn." 

The  captain  pulled  out  a  largo  silver  watch,  resembling  that  vege- 
table more  than  a  modern  time-piece,  and  instantly  recovering  his 
good  humour  said :  "  Well,  cookey,  you  are  right  for  oncet  in  your 
life,  that  are  a  fact,  come  hero,  here  is  a  glass  of  monogohela  for  you 
cookey.     Tip  that  off,  and  then  stir  your  stumps." 

"  Massa,  your  berry  good  health,  same  to  you  massa  Sam,  and 
massa  mate."  Drinking  it  off  he  returned  to  the  door,  which  he 
held  as  a  screen  in  his  hand,  and  then  showing  two  rows  of  ivory 
that  extended  almost  from  car  to  ear,  he  turned  and  said :  "  Now 
next  time,  massa,  don't  go  get  mad  for  noten,"  and  vanished. 

"Mad!  You  see  they  say  I  am  mad,"  he  said  again;  "but 
there  never  was  so  good-natured  a  man  as  I  be.  I  never  was  mad 
in  my  life,  except  I  was  put  out;  and  there  is  enough  on  board  a 
vessel  to  drive  a  man  distracted.  I  never  saw  a  rail  Yankee  mad 
uother,  except  he  made  a  bad  specilation.  No,  we  don't  go  crazy, 
we  got  too  much  sense  for  that,  and  Blue-nose  has  too  little — the 
Dutch  is  too  slow  for  it,  and  a  nigger  has  no  care ;  but  a  mad 
Frenchman  is  a  sight  to  behold.  I  shall  never  forget  a  feller  once 
I  drove  ravin'  distracted.  I  was  bound  for  Prince  Edward's  Island 
fishery ;  and  I  never  made  such  a  run  afore  or  since,  as  that  from 
Cape  Cod  to  Arichat.  There  the  wind  failed,  and  not  feelin'  well, 
I  took  the  boat  and  went  ashore  to  the  doctor. 


82 


THE     BEST    NATUEED 


^i 

i: 

*,i^ 

-  '■■' 

■'    *1 

•J' 

i 

'1^ 

a 

I  '«* 

■'■J 

ti 

/■*' 

^:'i' 

"Sais  he,  'you  must  take  five  powders  of  calomel  and  colycinth, 
one  every  other  night,'  and  he  did  them  up  as  neat  as  you  please,  in 
white  slips  of  paper,  quite  workmanlike. 

"  '  What's  the  damage  ?'  sais  I. 

" '  Eighteen-pence,'  sais  he. 

" '  Eighteen  what !'  ^ais  I,  a  raisin'  my  voice  so  as  to  be  heard  ia 
aimest. 

"  Eighteen-pence,'  said  he.  '  I  can't  sell  'era  no  cheaper,  that 
colycinth  is  expensive,  and  don't  keep  well;  and  you  must  import  it 
from  London  yourself.' 

" '  I  hope  I  may  never  see  Cape  Cod  again  if  I  do,'  sais  I. 

"'  1  don't  mean  you,'  he  said,  quite  coolj  'I  mean  me.' 

"'Then  why  the  plague  didn't  you  say  so?'  sais  I. 

"  '  I  can't  take  no  less,'  said  he.  '  This  is  a  poor  country  here. 
Sometimes  I  ride  five  or  six  miles  to  see  a  sick  woman ;  well,  half 
the  time  I  don't  get  paid  at  all,  sometimes  I  get  only  a  few  dried 
fish,  or  a  little  butter,  or  may  be  a  dozen  of  eggs,  and  often  nothin* 
but  a  dozen  fleas.  If  it's  too  dear  take  it  for  nothin',  for  I  won't 
take  less.* 

"  <  Why  you  old  salts  and  sinna,'  said  I,  *  do  you  think  I  am  com- 
plainin'  of  the  price  ?  I  was  complainin'  of  you  bein'  such  a  fool  as 
to  charge  so  little.  Who  the  plague  can  live  arter  that  fashion  ? 
There,'  sais  I,  '  is  a  dollar,  keep  that,'  a  throwin  of  it  down  on  his 
counter,  '  and  I  will  keep  the  modiciue,  for  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  take 
it.  The  smell  of  your  shop  has  half  cured  me  already,  and  lots  of 
molasses  and  water,  I  guess,  will  do  the  rest.' 

"  Well,  I  picked  up  the  powders,  and  put  them  into  my  waistcoat- 
pocket,  and  thought  no  more  about  'em.  1  pitied  that  are  doctor, 
for  I  took  a  kind  of  likin'  to  him,  seein'  he  was  like  me,  had  great 
command  of  himself,  and  kept  cool.  So  when  I  was  ready  to  leave, 
*  Dr.  Pain,'  sais  I,  '  I  am  the  best-naturcd  man  in  the  world,  I  do 
believe;  but  I  hope  I  may  be  most  particularly  d — d,  if  I  could 
stand  such  patients  as  you  have.     Take  my  advice,  cuss  and  quit.' 

"'Don't  swear/  said  he,  'it's  apoplectic,  and  it's  profane.' 

"'Swear,'  sais  I,  'who  the  devil  made  you  a  preacher?  If  it 
warnt  for  your  fleas  I'd  flay  you  alive,  you  old — ' 

"'Take  care,'  said  he,  'you'll  break  that  retort.' 

" ' Retort !'  sais  I ;  'to  be  sure  I  will  retort,  it's  my  fashion  to 
give  as  good  as  I  get,' 

"  '  The  man  is  drunk,'  said  he,  mumbling  to  himself;  and  he  sUpt 
into  an  inner  room,  and  bolted  the  door. 

"It  appears  to  me  people  tease  me  a  purpose  sometimes,  just 
because  I  am  good-natured. 

"  Weil,  as  I  was  sayin',  as  soon  as  I  got  on  board  the  breeze 
sprung  up  agin,  and  we  slipped  through  the  great  Gut  of  Canso  quite 
easy,  but  owin'  to  the  eddies  and  flaws  of  wind,  sometimes  one  eend 


MAN    IN    THE    WORLD. 


88 


jeze 

lite 

lend 


foremost  and  sometimes  the  other,  and  we  passed  Sand  Point,  Ship 
Harbour,  Pirate's  Cove,  Plaister  Buff,  McNair's  Bight,  and  all  tho 
other  hiding  and  smuggling  places,  one  arter  the  other.  Just  as  wo 
got  off  Indigue  ledges,  a  fishjng-boat  bore  down  on  us.  * 

"'Any  fish,  Captane?' 

"'What's  your  name?'  sais  I;  for  I  always  like  to  answer  one 
question  before  I  answer  another. 

"  '  Nicholas  Baban,'  said  he. 

"  He  was  a  little  dried-up  wizened  Frenchman,  that  looked  more 
like  a  babboon  than  anything  else.  He  had  a  pair  of  mocassins  on 
his  feet,  tanned  and  dressed,  with  the  hair  on  the  outside;  his  home- 
spun trousers  didn't  come  much  below  the  knee,  and  the  calf  between 
that  and  the  little  blue  sock  was  bare,  and  looked  the  colour  of  a 
smoked  salmon.  His  jacket,  like  his  trousers,  had  shrunk  up  too, 
and  only  came  to  the  pockets  of  his  waistcoat,  while  the  blue  cloth 
it  was  first  made  of,  was  patched  over  with  another  kind,  having . 
white  stripes,  such  as  the  Frenchwomen  wear  for  petticoats.  His 
cap,  for  hat  he  had  none,  had  been  cobbled  up  out  of  old  red  worsted, 
and  a  piece  of  fox-skin,  with  the  tail  hanging  down  rakisbly  behind. 
In  the  front  was  stuck  two  little  black  .pipes.  He  was  a  pictur'  to 
behold,  and  so  was  the  other  critter  in  the  bow  of  the  boat. 

"'Any  fish,  Captane?  Best  Boke  code-fish,  jist  caught,  vary 
good.' 

"'Well,'  sais  I,  'Mr.  Babboon,  I  don't  care  if  I  do.  Throw  us 
up  on  deck  two  dozen,  for  a  mess  of  chowder.' 

"  Well,  they  was  as  pretty  a  lot  of  cod  as  I  most  ever  seed.  Them 
ledges  is  the  best  boat-fishing  ground  I  know  on,  on  the  whole  coast. 
'Now,'  sais  I,  'Mr.  Babboon,  'what's  to  pay?' 

"'Any ting  you  like,  Captane.' 

'"Any ting  is  nothin','  sais  I.  'Name  your  price,  for  time  is 
money,  and  we  must  be  a  movin'  on  agin.  Come,  what's  the 
damage  ?' 

"  '  Oh,  anyting  you  like,  Sure.' 

And  the  deuce  a  thing  else  could  I  get  out  of  him ;  but  *  anyting 
you  like,  Sare,'  which  I  didn't  like  at  all;  at  last  I  began  to  get 
riled.  Thinks  I,  I'll  teach  you  to  speak  out  plain  next  time,  I  know; 
BO  I  put  my  hand  in  my  waistcoat-pocket,  and  took  out  something  to 
give  him.  '  Here,'  sais  I,  '  Mr.  Babboon,'  a  stretchin'  out  my  hand 
to  him ;  and  he  reached  up  his'n  to  receive  his  pay,  and  began  to 
thank  me  gallus  polite  afore  he  got  it. 

'* '  Tank  you,  Sare,  vary  much  obliepe.' 

" '  Here's  five  calomel  powders,'  said  I,  and  I  dropt  them  into  his 
nand.  '  Take  one  every  other  night  agoin'  to  bed,  in  some  sweatenin' 
or  another,  and  it  will  clear  your  complexion  for  you,  aud  make  you 
AS  spry  as  a  tour-year-old.' 

"  Oh  1 1  Dover  saw  anything  like  that  mad  Frenchman.   He  fairly 


>l^\ 


84 


THE    BEST    NATURED 


:i        I 


if  ;: 


yelled,  ho  tore  olT  lij'y  old  caj)  and  jumped  on  it,  and  let  out  a  bald 
pule  i)f  ;i  ligliftr  colour  than  hi.s  face,  tliat  made  him  look  something 
not  hiiniau.  Ho  foanuMl,  and  raved,  and  jablx.Tod,  and  threw  his 
arms  about,  and  shook  his  clenched  list  ^t  me,  and  swore  all  sorts  of 
oaths.  French  oaths,  Gaelic  oaths  —  for  tiiore  is  a  largo  Highland 
Bcttloment  back  of  Indigno — Indian  cusses,  and  Yankee  and  Knglish 
and  Irish  oaths.  They  all  came  out  in  one  great  long  chain ;  and  I 
am  sartain  if  anybody  had  taken  hold  of  one  eeud  of  it,  afore  the 
links  broke,  and  stretched  'em  out  strait,  they  would  have  reached 
across  the  Gut  of  Canso. 

"Well,  arter  I  thought  ho  had  lot  off  steam  enough  for  safety,  I 
took  out  of  my  pocket  a  handful  of  loose  silver,  and  hehl  it  out  to 
him.  'Come,  Mr.  IJabboon,'  said  I,  'come  and  take  your  pay,  I 
don't  want  your  fish  for  nothin',  a»id  go  I  nmst;  so  come  now,  liko 
a  good  feller,  and  let  us  })art  friends.' 

"But  it  only  sot  hiui  off  agin  as  bad  as  ever;  but  this  time  it  waa 
all  abuse  of  us  Yankees.  Well,  I  can  stand  a  glass  or  two  of  that, 
but  more  gets  into  my  head,  and  excites  me.  Thinks  I,  my  boy  I'll 
cool  you.  I  always  have  a  hand-engine  on  board  for  wettin'  sails;  it 
makes  them  thicker,  heavier,  and  liold  the  wind  better.  We  had 
been  usin'  ourn  that  morniti'  to  help  us  through  the  Gut,  for  the 
currents  were  bothersome  at  the  time.  'Give  me  the  hose,'  said  I; 
'  and  let  a  hand  stand  ready  to  work  the  pump.  Are  you  ready  ?' 
Bais  I. 

"  '  Yes,'  sais  the  man. 

"'Now,'  sais  I,  '  Mr.  Babboon,  I'll  wash  your  face  for  you,  afore 
you  go  home  to  see  the  old  lady,'  and  let  go  a  stream  all  over  him, 
Some  of  it  actilly  went  down  his  mouth  and  uonrly  choked  him,  he 
and  t'other  feller  pulled  out  of  reach,  hoisted  sail,  and  made  tracks 
for  the  shore  as  straight  as  the  crow  flies.  I  felt  kinder  sorry  for  him 
too,  for  he  lost  two  dozen  beautiful  cod,  and  got  a  duekin'  into  the 
bargain ;  but  it  was  his  own  fault,  he  ought  to  have  kept  a  civil 
tongue  in  his  head.  Yes,  I  think  Parly  voo  Frenchman  will  beat 
any  ci'eated  critter  at  gettin'  mad." 

"But,  Captin,"  sais  I,  "our  skipper  is  actilly  mad,  and  no 
mistake." 

"  What's  his  name  ?"  said  he. 

"  Jabish  Green." 

"What!  Jabish  Green,  of  Squantum?"  said  he,  a  jumpin'  up  on 
eend. 

"  The  same,"  sais  I. 
Mad  !"  said  he.  "To  be  sure  he  is;  as  mad  as  a  IMarch  hare. 
That's  poor  old  Jim  IMcGory,  as  the}'  call  hin) ;  as  good  a  critter,  and 
as  good  a  seaman,  as  ever  trod  shoe-leather.  Oh,  1  guess  he  is  mad. 
It's  all  day  with  him,  poor  feller !  and  has  been  ever  since  that  ever- 
lastin'  scoundrel,  Jim  McGory,  came  out  of  the  South,  and  got  up 


MAN    IN    THE    WORLD 


85 


Mm 
bho 
|vi! 
[eat 

no 


Ion 


re. 
id 
Id. 


protracted  lucctins  in  our  parts,  so  as  to  keep  the  bat  pasain'  rouDd 
Jill  tlio  tiiiu'.  Gracious  knows  ho  was  bad  enough  that  feller,  but  ho 
made  himself  out  a  hundred  time  wus  than  he  was.  He  lied  as  fust 
as  a  horse  could  trot.  He  said  he  had  been  a  Vixburg  gambler,  a 
horse-stealer,  a  nigger-kidnapper,  a  wraeker,  a  pirate,  and  I  don't 
know  what  he  didn't  own  to.  The  greater  the  sinner,  the  greater 
the  saint,  you  know.  Well,  he  said  ho  was  convarted  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  by  an  evangelical  call,  'Jim  MeGory,  come  to  glory  1' 
Oh,  tlio  crowds  of  foolish  women  and  men  that  followed  arter  that 
would   astonish   you.     It  appears  to  me,  the  more  onlikely 


man, 


things  are,  the  more  folks  believe  them.  Poor  Jabish  attended  a 
protracted  meetiu'  of  that  critter's,  down  to  Squantum,  that  lasted 
three  days  and  three  nights  j  and  the  followin'  night  he  was  so  ex- 
cited ho  didn't  sleqp  a  wink,  and  they  couldn't  get  no  sense  out  of 
him  ;  he  couldn't  say  any  thin',  but  that  are  profane  rhyme  over  and 
over,  and  they  had  to  send  him  to  the  asylum.  Who  on  airth  could 
have  shipped  that  man?  Who  are  the  owners  of  the  'Black 
Hawk'?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Have  you  a  tradiu'  cargo  of  notions  on  board?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then,  it's  the  Boston  folks.  They  don't  know  nothin'  about 
the  fishery.  They  have  hired  this  man  'cause  they  have  got  him 
cheap,  and  they  think  they  are  doin'  great  things,  'cause  they  get  such 
u  large  profit  on  their  goods ;  but  they  don't  count  the  time  they 
lose,  and  it's  no  better  than  pedlin'  at  last;  and  if  there  is  a  created 
critter  I  hate  and  despise,  it's  a  pedlar — the  cheatin',  lyin',  ramblin', 
la>;y  villain." 

'•Except  a  clock  pedlar,"  sais  I,  winkiu'  to  him. 

"No,"  sais  he,  a  raisin'  of  his  voice,  until  he  roared  amost,  (for 
^chc)l  a  man  is  wrong,  and  won't  admit  it,  he  always  yets  angry). 
'*  No,  I  won't  except  them.  There  haint  been  an  honest  one  here 
since  your  time ',  they  is  the  wust  of  all ;  and  a  wooden  clock  now  is 
like  a  woolen  nutmeg,  or  a  hickory  ham  —  a  standin'  joke  agin  our 
great  nation.     Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do,  Mr.  Slick?" 

"Take  this  skipper  home  with  you." 

After  a  pause  of  a  moment,  he  said,  "No,  I  can't  do  that.  I  am 
the  best  tempered  man  in  the  world,  but  I  haint  got  patience ;  and 
if  he  went  for  to  go  for  to  give  me  any  of  his  nonsense  about  Jim 
McGory,  I  suppose  I  should  turn  to  and  thrash  him,  and  that  would 
only  make  him  wus.  Here's  the  '  Nantasket,'  of  Nantucket,  along- 
side hero.  The  Captin  is  fonder  of  quack  medicines  than  Babboou; 
the  Frenchman,  was,  by  a  long  chalk.  I'll  get  him  to  give  him  a 
passage  home.     So  that's  settled." 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "  there  is  another  chap  that  must  go  home;  and  I 
told  him  all  about  Enoch  Eels  tantalizin'  the  skipper,  and  settin' 
8 


Ifi' 


m 


I?' 


I  s31 


86 


THE    BEST    NATURED 


him  out  of  his  mind ;  but,"  sais  I,  "  I  am  afraid  he  won't  quit  the 
vessel.' 

"Won't  he?"  said  he.  "Then  I'll  make  bim,  that's  all.  I'll 
Boon  larn  him  the  diSFerence  between  Jim  McGory  and  old  Blow- 
hard,  I  know.  He's  jist  the  cbap  I  want  —  something  to  tame  :  it 
keeps  one  in  good  humour.  I  had  a  bear  on  board  onst ;  I  had  him 
for  three  seasons.  He  was  a  great  comfort  to  me,  when  I  had  no- 
thing to  do.  I  used  to  let  him  loose,  take  a  short  iron  bar  m  my 
hand,  and  give  him  lessons  in  manners.  It  was  great  fun;  but 
being  so  well-fed,  he  grew  to  be  so  strong  a  brute,  he  became  ob- 
Btropolus  and  troublesome,  and  used  to  drive  the  men  up  the  riggin' 
Bometimes.  Nobotiy  could  manage  him  but  me ;  for  a  crack  over 
the  nose  with  the  iron  bar  always  made  him  civil.  A  bear's  nose, 
you  know,  Mr.  Slick,  is  as  tender  as  a  feller's  that's  got  a  cold  in 
his  head.  It  kept  us  all  in  good  humour.  I  used  to  like  to  get 
him  near  Satan^  tail  on,  give  him  a  whack  on  the  rump,  and  put  my 
rod  behind  me  as  quick  as  wink,  when  he'd  turn  short,  lay  right 
hold  of  the  cook's  leg  with  his  claws,  and  give  him  a  nip.  But 
somehow,  I  cousait,  bears  don't  like  niggers;  for  he  always  let  go 
soon,  and  then  sneezed  for  a  minute  or  so,  as  if  he  smelt  pyson. 
Well,  one  day,  cook  was  called  aft,  just  as  the  men's  dinner  was 
ready ;  and  in  slipt  bear,  and  began  to  pay  away  at  it  in  rail  airnest ; 
bat  he  scalded  his  paws,  and  skinned  his  nose  with  the  soup,  and 
the  meat  was  so  hot,  he  had  to  bolt  it.  The  pain  set  him  ravin'  dis- 
tracted mad ;  and  when  he  came  out  of  the  cabouse,  he  cleared  the 
deck  in  less  than  half  no  time.  He  was  d  gerous,  that's  a  fact. 
Well,  I  got  the  rod^  and  he  gave  me  a  stand-up  fight  for  it;  and  at 
last,  after  he  had  warded  ott'  a  good  many  blows,  1  hit  him  a  crack 
on  the  snout;  and  he  turned,  and  went  into  Lis  den,  slowly  and 
sulkily,  a  lookin'  over  his  shoulder  as  he  went,  and  grinuiu'  awful 
wicked.  The  short,  quick  way  he  lifted  up  his  scalded  paws  off  the 
deck,  instead  of  his  usual  slouchiu'  gait,  was  the  funniest  thing  you 
ever  saw. 

"  Next  mornin',  when  I  turned  out,  I  se<  d  all  the  men  was  on 
deck,  and  Bruin's  door  standin'  open.     '  When/s  (ho  bar?'  sais  I. 

"  '  He  got  out  afore  day,'  sais  they ;  *  and  as  his  paws  were 
scalded  and  sore,  we  kinder  guess  he  went  overboard  to  cool  'em.' 

"  I  seed  how  it  was :  the  villains  had  made  him  walk  the  plank. 
Oh,  Solomon  !  didn't  1  bile  up,  ready  to  run  over  the  lid !  for  I 
don't  like  fellers  to  make  free  with  me  or  mine.  But  I  threw  a 
little  grain  of  prudence  info  it,  and  it  went  right  down  in  a  minute, 
jist  as  a  drop  of  water  puts  down  bilin'  maple  sugar.  I  have  great 
command  over  myself — I  believe  I  am  the  best-tempered  man  in  tiie 
world.  Sais  I  to  myself,  '  It  aint  right  to  keep  this  brute  to  bother 
them,  and  he's  got  dangerous;  and  if  he  was  to  make  mince-meat 
of  any  of  'em,  it  would  be  heavy  on  one's  conscience,  if  a  feller  was 
on  his  beam-eud.'     So  sais  I,  '  Well,  it's  jist  as  well  he  has  taken 


MAN    IN    THE    WORLD. 


87 


on 


rere 


Ink. 


I 

a 


te 


> 

at 


a  swim  to  shore,  for  be  aint  safe,  is  he  ?  and  sheep  seems  more 
nateral  food  than  humans  for  him.  I  should  have  liked  though,'  said 
I,  '  if  you  could  a  caught  him  as  he  went  over  by  the  ears,  and 
drawcd  his  skin  off,  as  he  sprung  out ;  the  hide  was  worth  twentj 
dollars/ 

"  Well,  they  larfed  at  that  joke,  but  they  didn't  know  me.  I 
always  joko  when  I  am  aggravated ;  it's  like  driving  down  the  wad 
well  —  when  the  gun  goes  off  it  makes  a  louder  report.  I  warn't 
well  plehsed,  and  yet  I  can't  say  I  was  sorry,  only  I  wished  they 
had  asked  leave,  and  I  turned  and  went  below.  It's  better  to  be 
cheated  than  chafed,  when  you  can't  help  yourself.  Presently  I 
heered  an  awful  noise  on  deck,  all  the  hands  shoutin'  i  .i  cheerin' 
and  callin'  out  at  the  top  eend  of  their  voice. 

"  '  Hullo !'  sais  I,  '  what  in  natur'  is  all  this  ?  has  States  Prison 
broke  loose  ?' 

"■ '  Look  there,'  sais  they ;  'look  at  Bruin  the  bear.' 

"  We  was  iibout  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Louisburg,  and  it  was 
nearly  calm.  Two  Frendi  lishcrmcn  had  come  out  in  a  boat  to  take 
up  their  nets,  and,  while  their  backs  was  turned,  Bruin  claws  over 
the  bow,  and  there  he  was  a  sittiu'  on  his  haunches  a-grinnin'  and 
a-makin'  faces  at  'oni,  and  a-lickin'  of  his  chops  with  his  great  red 
tongue,  as  if  he  had  heard  of  French  dishes,  and  wanted  to  try  one. 

"  Well,  they  yelled  and  roared  with  fright;  but  the  bear  was  used 
to  noises,  and  didn't  understand  no  language  but  Indgian  and  Eng- 
lish, and  held  his  ground  like  a  man.  At  last  one  of  the  Frenchers 
got  the  boat-hook  and  made  a  poke  at  him ;  but  he  knocked  it  out 
of  his  hand  away  up  into  the  uir  ever  so  far,  and  then  actilly  roared, 
he  was  so  mad, 

"'Lower  the  boat,'  sais  I,  'my  men.  Be  quick.  Mate,  you 
and  I  must  go  with  our  rifles;  and  Tim  Lynch,  you  are  a  good  shot 
too,  bear  a  hand;  we  must  be  quick,  or  he'll  breakfast  off  those 
chaps.     Take  your  knives  with  you.' 

"  Well,  we  pulled  off,  and  got  within  good  shootin'  distance,  when 
I  told  the  Frenchmen  to  lie  flat  down  in  the  boat,  and  we'd  shoot 
the  bar.  Well,  jist  as  they  throwed  themselves  down,  bar  began  to 
make  preparations  for  ondressin'  of  'cm,  when  the  mate  and  I  fired, 
and  down  he  fell  on  one  of  the  seats  and  smashed  it  in  two.  The 
man  at  the  helm  jumped  overboard  and  swam  towards  us,  but  the 
other  neither  rose  nor  spoke.  The  bar  had  fallen  on  him,  when  he 
gave  himself  up  for  lost  and  fainted.  We  shipped  the  bar  into  our 
boat,  put  the  helmsman  back  into  his'n,  and  raised  t'other  feller  on 
his  feet,  arter  which  we  returned  to  the  '  Eagle.' 

"  No,  I'd  like  to  tame  Euoch  Eells.  Theie  would  be  fun  in  it, 
wouldn't  there  ?  Cook,  keep  the  dinner  back,  till  further  orders. 
Four  hands  in  the  boat  there  —  move  quick.  Come,  let's  go  oa 
board  the  '  Black  Hawk.'  " 


•hi, 

(I     ! 


I'M 
t' , 


88 


THE    BAIT    BOX. 


"  Massa,"  saiil  Satan,  "  I  know  you  is  de  best-natured  man  in  do 
world,  'cept  six,  and  derefore  I  rctirat  you  dine  fust;  it's  half-past 
elobeii  now,  and  dinner  is  pipiu'  hot,  and  dat  are  Janiaiky  does  smell 
so  oloriferous,"  and  he  held  back  his  head  and  snuffed  two  or  three 
times,  as  if  he  longed  to  taste  of  it  agin;  "and  Massa  Sam  aint 
well,  I  is  sure  he  aint,  is'  ynu,  Massa  Sam  ?" 

Tliat  familiar  word,  Sam,  from  a  nigger  was  too  much  for  poor 
Blowhard. 

"  Sam !  the  devil,"  said  he,  raisin'  his  voice  to  its  utmost  pitch, 
"how  dare  you,  you  black  imp  of  darkness,  talk  before  me  that 
way." 

And  he  seized  his  favourite  jigger,  but  as  he  raised  it  in  the  air, 
Satan  absquotulated.  The  captain  glared  at  the  closing  door  most 
savagely ;  but  being  disappointed  of  his  prey,  he  turned  to  me  with 
a  look  of  fury. 

"  I  agree  with  you,  captin',"  sais  I,  quite  cool;  "  I  think  we  might 
as  well  be  a-niovin." 

"  Come  then,"  said  he,  suddenly  lowerin'  his  tone,  "  come  then, 
let  us  go  ahead.  jMr.  Slick,"  said  he,  "I  believe  they  will  drive  me 
mad  at  last;  every  fellow  on  board  of  this  vessel  takes  liberties  with 
me,  thinking  I'll  stand  it,  because  they  know  I  am  the  bcst-natiired 
man  in  the  world." 


CHAPTER    IX 


THE    BAIT    BOX. 


"  So  he  wont  leave  the  vessel,  ch  ?"  said  Captain  Love,  "  well,  a 
critter  that  wont  move  must  be  made  to  go,  that's  all.  There  is  a 
mofivn  power  in  all  natur'.  There  is  a  current  or  a  breeze  for  a 
vessel,  an  ingine  for  a  rail-car,  necessity  for  poverty,  love  for  the 
feminine  gender,  and  glory  for  the  hero.  But  for  men,  I  like  per- 
suasion; it  seems  to  convene  better  with  a  free  and  enlightened 
citizen.  Now  here,"  said  ho,  openin'  his  closet,  and  taking  out  his 
'rope-yarn,'  (the  formidable  instrument  of  puni^shment  I  have 
spoken  uf,)  "  here  is  a  persuader  that  nothing  can  stand.  Oh  !  he 
wont  come,  vU  ?  well,  we'll  see  !" 

As  soon  as  he  went  on  board  the  '  Black  Hawk,'  we  descended 
into  the  large  cabin,  and  there  sat  3Ir.  Enoch  Eells  apart  from  the 
rest,  with  his  head  restin'  on  his  hands,  and  his  elbows  on  his  knees, 
jookin'  as  if  he  had  lost  every  friend  he  had  in  the  world,  and  was 
a  tryin'  to  fanc}'  their  faces  ou  the  floor 

"Morniu'  to  you,  Mr.  EcUs,"    ad  the  skipper,  "come  to  iDTite 


THE    BAIT    BOX. 


US 

live 


^ed 


!13 


ite 


you  oa  board  the  '  B?ld  Eagle/  to  take  a  trip  to  hum  to  see  your 

friends  again." 

"  Well,  I  wont  go,"  said  he,  ''so  just  mind  your  own  business." 

"  Hold  up  your  head,  man,  and  let  me  look  at  you,"  be  replied, 

and  he  seized  him  by  the  collar,  lifted  him  on  his  feet,  and  exposed 

his  face  to  view.     It  was  a  caution,  you  may  depend,  swelled,  and 

cut,  and  bruised  and  blackened  dreadful. 

"Hullo!"  said  the  skipper,  "what's  all  this:  who  has  been  ill- 
using  the  man  ?  It  must  be  inquired  into.  What's  the  matter, 
here  ?"  and  he  pretended  to  look  all  surprised. 

"Why,"  said  the  second  mate,  "the  matter  is  just  this:  Enoch, 
instead  of  mindin'  his  business,  aggravated  the  captin'  and  set  hipf 
mud ;  and  instead  of  mindin'  my  business,  as  I  had  ought  to  do, 
returned  the  compliment,  first  aggravated,  and  then  set  him  mad, 
and  we  fit.  I  must  say,  I  took  him  in,  for  I  know  how  to  box  scien- 
tific." 

"  Workmanlike,  you  mean,"  the  captain  said,  "  I  hate  and 
despise  that  word  '  scientific ;'  it  is  a  cloak  to  cover  impudence  and 
ignorance.  A  feller  told  me  as  we  started  last  voyage,  he  fished 
scientific.  '  Then  you  are  just  the  hand  for  me,'  said  I.  '  What's 
the  cause  of  that  film  on  the  mackerel's  eye  in  winter  ?" 

«  '  What  film  V  said  he. 

"  '  And  what's  the  scientific  cause  that  the  cataract  drops  off  of 
itself  without  a  doctor  to  couch  it  with  a  needle  V 

"  '  What  cataract?'  said  he. 

" '  Why,  you  impostor,'  said  I,  '  you  said  you  fished  scientific  j 
get  up  your  traps;  go  ashore  and  finish  your  schoolin','  and  I  put 
him  into  the  boat  and  landed  him.  Finery  in  talk  is  as  bad  as  finery 
in  dress;  and  our  great  country  is  overrun  with  it.  Things  aint 
solid  and  plain  now  a-days  as  they  used  to  be;  but  they  are  all 
veneered  and  varnished.  Say  workmanlike  and  I  wont  nonconcur 
you,  for  I  must  say  the  business  was  done  thorough." 

"  Well,"  sais  Bent,  "  call  it  what  you  like,  I  was  taughten  the 
art,  a»d  he  warnt,  or  he  would  have  made  small  bait  of  mo  in  no 
time,  for  he  is  as  brave  as  he  is  strong,  and  I  don't  believe  there  is 
an  untaught  man  of  his  inches  could  stand  before  him." 

Eells  Jumpt  right  up  on  eend  at  that,  and  caught  him  by  the 
hand.  "  Mr.  Bent,"  said  he,  "you  have  spoke  like  a  man.  I  feel 
I  was  wrong;  I  am  very  sorry  for  it;  let  us  part  friends.  It  is 
better  I  should  go ;  the  lesson  wont  be  lost  on  me." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Blowhard,  "  the  lesson  is  deeper  than  you  think  ; 
your  father  owns  half  this  here  vessel ;  now  a  man  that  is  richer 
than  bis  neighbour,  is  expected  to  be  liberal  of  his  civility  as  well 
as  his  money;  civility  is  a  cheap  coin  that  is  manufactured  for 
nothiu',  and  among  folks  in  general  goes  further  than  dollars  and 
cents.     But  come,  we  must  be  a  movin'.     Mr.  Eolla" — and  he 


I 


m 


1    '         ! 


ijr: 


Hi 


«f 


90 


THE    BAIT    BOX. 


marked  the  word  *  Mr.'  to  show  he  was  pleased  —  "  as  soon  as  you 
are  ready  come  on  board,  it  will  look  better  than  goin'  with  me,  ii 
seems  voluntary  and  free-will  like. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Slick,  let  us  go  on  board  of  the  '  Nantasket'  and  see 
Capting  Oby  Furlong,  old  Sarsiparilly  Pills,  as  I  call  him.  He  is  a 
good  kind  of  man  in  his  way,  but  death  on  quack  medicines,  ahd 
especially  sarsiparilly,  for  which  he  is  going  to  take  out  a  patent. 
Mate,  when  you  see  a  flag  hoisted,  come  on  board  with  the  capting, 
fetch  him  without  his  luggage,  and  then  he  will  think  there  is  no 
compulsion,  and  you  can  return  for  that  arterwards.  Come,  boys, 
shove  off." 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  said  the  mate,  **  do  you  think  I'll  be  sued  ?  It's  a 
great  risk  and  a  heavy  responsibility  this." 

"  Stand  a  one  side,"  said  I,  "  how  dare  you  talk  that  way  to  me?' 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  the  skipper,  "  every  man  has  his  hobby, 
and  on  board  ship  it  is  actilly  necessary  to  have  some  hobby  oi 
another,  or  the  bottle  is  apt  to  be  sent  for  as  a  companion.  It  is  a 
dull  life  at  sea,  sometimes,  and  a  sameness  in  it  even  in  its  varieties, 
and  it  is  a  great  thing  to  have  some  object  for  the  mind  to  work  on, 
where  there  are  no  passengers.  Now  there  is  my  bait-box  and 
patent-jigger  inventions;  there  is  Matey  with  his  books  and  studies, 
and  here  is  Oby  Furlong  with  an  apothecary's  shop  on  board.  The 
want  of  these  things  makes  captings  of  men-of-war  tyrants;  when 
they  don't  study,  their  hobby  is  to  bother  their  men,  and  their 
whole  talk  is  discipline. 

"Commodore  Marlin,  of  the  'Ben  Lomond,'  a  British  seventy- 
four,  once  hailed  me  off  Fox  Island,  to  ask  some  questions  about 
the  passage  thro'  the  gut  of  Canso,  He  was  a  tight-built,  well- 
made,  active,  wiry  man,  and  looked  every  inch  a  sailor;  but  the 
word  tyrant  was  writ  over  all  in  big  print.  There  was  a  fightin' 
devil,  and  a  bullyin'  devil  at  the  same  time  in  his  eyes  and  mouth, 
and  it  ain't  often  they  go  together,  for  it's  mostly  cowards  that  bully; 
but  that  man  looked  as  if  he  warnt  afeard  of  old  Scratch  himself. 
It  ain't  always  necessary  to  look  fierce;  I  ain't  skeered  of  old  Nick 
nuther;  but  I  am  as  mock  as  a  lamb.  I  do  believe  in  my  soul  I 
am  the  best  natured  man  living ;  but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 

"  When  I  went  aft  to  him — for  he  didn't  meet  me  a  step,  tho'  ho 
sent  for  me  himself  —  he  eyed  me  all  over,  from  head  to  foot,  silent 
and  scorney  like,  as  much  as  to  say,  what  a  queer  old  thrasher  you 
be !  I  wonder  if  you  are  any  relation  to  the  sea-sarpent,  or  the 
hippopotamus,  or  any  of  these  outlandish  animals?  He  never  «o 
much  as  asked  me  to  sit  down,  or  to  go  into  his  cabin,  or  take  a  glass 
to  drink  with  him,  or  said  a  word  in  favour  of  iny  beautiful  littlo 
craft,  which  sailors  always  do,  when  they  can  with  truth. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  all  created  critters  look  down  on  each  other. 
The  British  and  French  look  down  on  the  Yankees,  and  colonista 


1 


THE    BAIT. BOX. 


91 


on 
he 

NO 

tlo 


look  down  upon  niggers  and  Indians,  while  we  look  down  upon  them 
all.  It's  the  way  of  the  world,  I  do  suppose;  but  the  road  ain't  a 
pleasant  one. 

"Are   you   acquainted  with   the   navigation   of  the   Straits   of 
Canso?'  said  he. 

"  *  I  guess  I  ought  to  be/  sais  I. 

" '  That's  not  the  question/  said  he.     *  Are  you,  or  are  you  not?' 

"  '  Do  you  know  it  ?'  sais  I.  *  If  you  do,  perhaps  you  have  seen 
Sand  Pint.' 

"  Sais  he,  'My  friend,  I  asked  you  a  plain,  civil  question;  will 
you  give  me  a  plain,  civil  answer  ?* 

"Thinks  I  to  myself,. Commodore,  the  question  is  civil  enough, 
but  you  aint  civil,  and  your  manner  aint  civil ;  but,  however,  here's 
at  you.  I'll  pay  you  oflF  at  last,  see  if  I  don't,  for  you  sent  for  me ; 
I  didn't  come  unaxed,  and  it  was  to  give,  and  not  ax  favours.  *  Yes/ 
sais  I,  'as  many  as  you  like.'  Well,  I  told  him  all  about  the  navi- 
gation, and  finally  advised  him  not  to  try  to  go  through  without  a 
stiff  breeze,  with  so  large  a  ship,  as  the  currents  were  strong,  and 
the  wind,  when  light,  always  baffling. 

"  At  last,  sais  I,  '  This  witness-box  of  yourn.  Commodore,  hns  a 
plaguey  hard  floor  to  it;  I  don't  care  if  I  sit  down,'  and  I  jist  squat- 
ted down  careless,  with  legs  across  the  breach  of  a  large  gun,  so  big 
I  could  hardly  straddle  it,  a  most  onpardonable  sin,  as  I  knowed,  on 
board  of  a  man-of  war ;  but  I  did  it  a  purpose.  Then  I  jist  sprin- 
kled over  the  beautiful  white  deck  a  little  tobaccr  juice,  and  coolly 
took  out  my  jack-knife  and  began  to  pn  pare  to  load  my  pipe  and 
whittle.  I  did  this  all  intentional,  to  vex  him,  on  account  of  his 
rudeness — for  rudeness  is  a  game  two  can  play  at.  Oh,  Jerusalem ! 
if  you  had  a  seen  him  how  he  raved,  and  stamped,  and  swore,  when 
he  seed  I  was  so  juicy !  and  the  more  he  stormed,  the  more  the  ofl&- 
cers  on  the  other  side  of  t:  o  deck  sniggered  in  their  sleeves;  for 
some  how  or  another,  in  bic  ships  or  little  ones,  men  like  to  see  the 
skipper  rubbed  up  agin  :iie  grain,  when  they  aint  like  to  catch  it 
themselves.  Whtrever  tktre  is  authority,  there  is  a  natural  iticU' 
nation  to  clisobedience. 

"'  Don't  you  know  ^^etser  than  that.  Sir?'  said  he.  'Have  you 
no  dcoeucy  about  you?' 

**  *  Do  you  swaller  when  you  chaw?'  sais  I,  lookin'  innocent, 
'  Some  folks  do,  I  know  but  I  never  could  for  the  life  of  me.  It 
goes  agin  the  grain,  and  I  couauit  hurts  tiie  digestion.'  Oh,  what  a 
face  he  made !  how  he  wagged  his  head,  and  shut  IiIh  mouth  and  his 
eyes  close  to  !  He  looked  like  a  landsman  jist  agoin  to  be  sea-sick, 
iud  of  shudder  all  over  his  frame. 


( (( 


gave 
You  may  go,  Sir,'  said  he. 


Thank  you,'  sais  I;  '  I  suppono  I  needn't  ask  leave  for  that 
Captiug,'  sais  I,  still  keepin'  my  seat  on  the  gun,  *  you  want  a  bait 
box/ 


92 


TUB    BAIT-BOX. 


m 


" '  A  spittle-box,  you  mean/  said  he. 

"  '  No  I  don't/  8ai^  I.  '  I  have  bc^en  too  long  afloat  not  to  know 
the  nicanin'  of  sea'tenus.     You  want  a  bait-box.' 

"  He  was  fairly  puzzled.  First  he  looked  at  the  leftenant,  and 
then  at  me,  and  then  he  looked  as  if  he  had  better  drop  further 
talk ;  but  his  curiosity  gpt  the  better  of  him. 

" '  A  bait-box/  said  he ;  *  I  don't  understand  you,' 

"  '  Well,'  sais  I,  '  1  invented  a  bait-box  for  cuttin'  up  bait  small 
and  fine,  for  enticin'  fish,'  and  I  explained  it  as  short  as  words  could 
make  it,  for  fear  he'd  cut  stick  and  leave  me  alone  talkiu'  there. 
'Now,'  sais  I,  'that  invention,  beautiful  and  simple  as  it  is,  cost  me 
great  thought  and  much  tobacky,'  said  I,  lookin'  innocent  again ; 
'  but  it  occupied  my  mind  at  leisure  hours  for  two  seasons,  and  that's 
a  great  thing.  Now,  invent  a  bait-box,  or  a  new  capstan,  or  an  im- 
proved windlass,  or  something  or  another  of  that  kind ;  it  will  keep 
you  busy,  and  vi^hat's  better,  good-natured,  and  you  won't  rave  when 
a  gentleman  jist  spits  on  a  floor  that  has  a  thousand  men  to  clean  it. 

"  '  Now,'  sais  I,  a  risin',  puttin'  up  my  knife  and  tobacky,  '  Cap- 
ting,  depend  upon  it,  you  want  a  bait-box.  And,  Commodore,  let 
me  tell  you,  you  sent  for  the  right  man  to  get  information.  I  am 
Commodore  of  this  everlastin'  splendid  American  fishing-fleet,  of 
more  than  two  hundred  forc-and-afters.  A  fleet  the  world  can 
ditto  for  beauty,  speed,  and  equipments.  They  call  me  Old  Blow- 
hard.  If  you  ever  do  me  the  honour  to  visit  my  flag-ship,  I  will 
prove  to  you  an  old  Commodore  knows  how  to  receive  a  young  one. 
There  is  a  cabin  in  my  vessel,  small  as  she  is,  and  chairs  in  it,  and 
a  bottle  of  the  best  wine  for  the  like  of  you,  and  old  Jamaiky  for 
them  that  h  t-  ■ymr-.e  to  prefer  it,  and  that's  more  than  there  is  in  this 
seventy-four,  big  as  she  is,  as  far  as  I  can  see.  Oh,  invent  a  bait- 
box  !  it  will  improve  your  temper,  and  that  will  improve  your  man- 
ners, depend  upon  it.     I  wish  you  good  morniu'.' 

"I  then  went  on  board,  and  hoisted  a  Commodore's  flag,  and  my 
men  —  eighteen  in  number  —  saluted  it  with  three  cheers  as  it  went 
up,  and  every  other  of  our  vessels  becalmed  there,  seeing  somcthin' 
was  goin'  on  above  common,  took  up  the  cheer,  and  returned  it  witli 
a  will  that  made  the  shores  echo  again. 

"But  here  we  are  almost  along.si^Ie  of  the  'Nantasket.'  I  will 
introduce  you  to  Captiug  Oby  Furlong;  he  will  be  a  character  for 
you,  and  if  you  ever  write  a  book  again,  don't  fcrgit  Old  Sarsipa' 
rilly  Fills." 


ft 


THE    WATER-GLASS,    ETC 


111 


CHAPTER   X. 
THE  "WATER-GLASS;    OR,   A    DAY-DREAM  OF   LIFE. 

AS  the  men  rowed  us  towards  the  '  Nantasket,'  the  Captin  and  i 
couldn't  very  well  talk  afore  'em  on  the  subjects  we  wanted  to  speak 
of,  so  we  held  a  sort  of  Quaker's  meetiu',  and  said  notbin'.  I  pulled 
the  peak  of  my  cap  over  my  eyes,  for  the  sun  dazzled  me,  and  aforo 
I  knowed  where  I  was,  I  was  off  into  one  of  my  day-dreams,  that  I 
sometimes  indulge  in.  I  was  musin*  on  what  a  strange  thing  life  is, 
what  a  curious  feller  man  is,  and  what  a  phantom  we  pursue  all  the 
time,  thinkin'  it  points  the  way  to  happiness,  instead  of  enticin'  us 
into  swamps,  quagmires,  and  lagoons.  Like  most  day-dreams  it 
warn't  very  coherent,  for  one  thought  leads  to  another,  and  that  has 
au  affinity  to  something  else ;  and  so  at  last  the  thread  of  it,  if  it 
don't  get  tangled,  ain't  very  straight,  that's  a  fact.  I  shall  put  it 
down  as  if  I  was  a  talkin'  to  you  about  everything  in  general  and 
nothin'  in  particular. 

Sais  I  to  myself,  the  world  has  many  nations  on  the  face  of  it,  I 
reckon,  but  there  ain't  but  four  classes  among  them :  fools  and 
knaves,  saints  and  sinners.  Fools  and  sinners  form  the  bulk  of 
mankind ;  rogues  are  numerous  everywhere,  while  saints — real  salts 
— are  few  in  number,  fewer,  if  you  could  look  into  their  hearts,  than 
folks  think.  I  was  once  in  Prospect  Harbour,  near  Halifax,  shortly 
arter  a  Boston  packet  had  been  wracked  there.  All  that  could  float 
had  been  picked  up,  or  washed  away ;  but  the  heavy  things  sank  to 
the  bottom,  and  these  in  the  general  way  were  valifixble.  I  saw  a 
man  in  a  boat  with  a  great  long  tube  in  his  hands,  which  he  put 
down  into  the  sea  every  now  and  then,  and  looked  through,  and  then 
moved  on  and  took  another  observation. 

It  was  near  about  dinner-time,  so  I  thought  Pd  just  wait,  as  I  had 
noV  "^n'  above  particular  to  do,  and  see  what  this  thing  was^  so  when 
the  t^an  came  on  shore,  "  Mornin'  to  you,"  sais  I  ''That  was  an 
awful  wreck  that,  warn't  it?"  and  I  looked  as  dismal  as  i'f  I  had 
lost  somethin'  there  myself.  But  there  was  nothin'  very  awful  about 
it,  for  everybody  was  saved ;  and  if  there  was  some  bales  and  boxes 
lost,  why  in  a  general  way  it's  good  for  trade.  But  I  said  awful 
wrack,  for  I've  obsarved  you  have  to  cant  a  little  with  the  world,  if 
you  want  even  common  civil  usage. 

In  fact,  in  calamities  I  never  knew  but  one  man  speak  the  truth. 
He  lived  near  a  large  range  c  f  barracks  that  was  burnt,  together 


i=i 


ill  I 


94 


THE    WATER-GLASS 


m 


with  all  the  housos  round  him,  but  ho  escaped ;  and  his  house  was 
insured.  Well,  he  mourned  dreadful  over  his  standing  house,  more 
than  others  did  over  their  fallen  ones.  He  said,  "  He  was  ruinated ; 
he  lived  by  the  barrack  expenditure,  and  the  soldiers  were  removed, 
and  the  barracks  were  never  to  be  rebuilt;  and  as  he  was  insured, 
he'd  a  been  a  happy  man,  if  his  house  had  been  burnt,  and  he  had 
recovered  the  amount  of  his  loss." 

Now  that  man  I  always  respected;  he  was  an  honest  man.  Other 
folks  would  have  pretended  to  be  thankful  for  so  narrow  an  f^scape, 
but  thought  in  their  hearts  just  as  he  did,  only  they  wouldn't  be 
manly  enough  to  say  so.     But  to  get  back  to  my  story. 

"  Awful  wrack  that  I"  said  I,  dolefully. 

'*  Well,  it  was  considerable,  but  it  might  have  been  wuss,"  said 
he,  quite  composed. 

Ah  !  sais  I  to  myself,  I  see  how  it  is,  you  haint  lost  anything, 
that's  clear,  but  you  are  lookin'  for  somethin'. 

"  Sarching  for  gold  ?"  said  I,  laughin',  and  goin'  on  t'other  tack. 
"  Every  vessel,  the;f  say,  is  loaded  with  gold  now-a-days  ?" 

"  Well,"  sais  he,  smiling,  "  I  aint  sarching  for  gold,  for  it  aint  so 
plenty  on  this  coast ;  but  I  am  sarching  for  zinc :  there  are  several 
rolls  of  it  there." 

"What  was  that  curious  tube,"  sais  I,  *'if  I  might  be  so  bold  as 
to  ax?'' 

"  Sartain,"  sais  he,  "  it's  a  water-glass.  The  bottom  of  that  tube 
has  a  large  plate  of  glass  in  it.  When  you  insert  the  tube  into  the 
sea,  and  look  down  into  it,  you  can  perceive  the  bottom  much  plainer 
than  you  can  with  a  naked  eye." 

"  Good  \"  sais  I ;  "  now  that's  a  wrinkle  on  my  horn.  I  daresay 
a  water-glass  is  a  common  thing,  but  T  never  heard  of  it  afore.  Might 
it  be  your  invention,  for  it  is  an  excellent  one." 

He  looked  up  suspicious  like. 

"  Never  heard  of  a  water-glass  ?"  he  said,  slowly.  "  May  I  ask 
what  your  name  mought  be?" 

"Sartainly,"  sais  I,  "friend;  you  answered  me  my  question 
civilly,  and  I  will  answer  yours.  I'm  Sam  Slick,  sais  I,  at  least 
what's  left  of  me." 

"Sam  Slick,  the  Clockmaker?"  sais  he 

"The  same,"  said  I,  "and  never  heard  of  a  water-glass?" 

"Never!  Mr.  Slick,"  said  he,  "I'm  not  so  simple  as  you  take 
me  to  be.  You  can't  come  over  me  that  way,  but  you  are  welcome 
to  that  rise,  anyhow.     I  wish  you  good  niornin'." 

Now  that's  human  natur'  all  over.  A  man  is  never  astonished 
or  ashamed  that  he  don't  know  what  another  docs ;  hut  he  is  sur- 
•prised  at  the  gross  ignorance  of  the  other  in  not  /cnoiciyi'  ichat  he 
does.  But  to  return.  If  instead  of  the  water-glass  (which  I  vow 
\o  man  I  never  heard  of  it  before  that  day),  if  we  had  a  breast-glass 


i 


^ 


OR,     A    DAT-DREAM     OP    LIFE. 


95 


Iw 


to  look  into  the  heart,  and  read  what  is  wrote,  and  see  what  13 
passin'  there,  a  great  part  of  the  saints — them  that  don't  know  music 
or  paintiu'  and  call  it  a  waste  of  precious  time,  and  can't  dance,  and 
call  it  wicked,  and  won't  go  to  parties,  because  they  are  so  stupid  no 
one  will  talk  to  them,  and  call  it  sinful  —  a  great  lot  of  the  saints 
would  pass  over  to  the  sinners.  Well,  the  sinners  must  be  added  to 
the  fools,  and  it  swells  their  numbers  up  considerable,  for  a  feller 
must  be  a  fool  to  be  a  sinner  at  all,  seein'  that  the  way  of  the  trans- 
gressers  is  hard. 

Of  the  little  band  of  rael  sails  of  saints,  a  considerable  some 
must  be  added  to  the  fools'  ranks  too,  for  it  aint  every  pious  man 
that's  wise,  though  he  may  have  sense  enough  to  be  good.  Arter 
this  deduction,  the  census  of  them  that's  left  will  show  a  small  table, 
that's  a  fact.  When  the  devoted  city  was  to  be  destroyed,  Abraham 
begged  it  off  for  fifty  righteous  men.  And  then  for  forty-five,  and 
finally  for  ten ;  but  arter  all,  only  Lot,  his  wife,  and  two  daughters 
was  saved,  and  that  was  more  from  marcy  than  their  desarts,  for  they 
warnt  no  great  shakes  arter  all.  Yes,  the  breast-glass  would  work 
wonders,  but  I  don't  think  it  would  be  overly  safe  for  a  man  to  in- 
vent it;  he'd  find  himself,  1  reckon,  some  odd  night  a  plaguey  sight 
nearer  the  top  of  a  lamp-post,  and  farther  from  the  ground  than  was 
agreeable;  and  wouldn't  the  hypocrites  pretend  to  lament  him,  and 
say  he  was  a  dreadful  loss  to  mankind  t  That  being  the  state  of 
the  cas(j,  the  great  bulk  of  humans  may  be  classed  as  fools  and 
knaves.  The  last  are  the  thrashers  and  sword-fishes,  and  grampuses 
and  sharks  of  the  sea  of  life ;  and  the  other  the  great  shoal  of  com- 
mon fish  of  different  sorts,  that  seem  made  a-purpose  to  feed  these 
hungry  onmarciful  critters  that  take  'em  in  by  the  dozen  at  one 
swoop,  and  open  their  mouths  wide,  and  dart  on  for  another  meal. 

Them's  the  boys  that  don't  know  what  dyspepsy  is.  Considera- 
ble knowin'  in  the  way  of  eatin',  too,  takin'  an  appertizer  of  sar- 
dines in  the  mornin'  afore  breakfastin'  on  macarel,  and  having  lob- 
ster sauce  with  their  cod-fish  to  dinner,  and  a  barrel  of  anchovies  to 
disgest  a  light  little  supper  of  a  boat-load  of  haddock,  halibut,  and 
flat  fish.  Yes,  yes  !  the  bulk  of  mankind  is  knaves  and  fools;  reli- 
gious knaves,  political  knaves,  legal  knaves,  quack  knaves,  trading 
knaves,  and  sarvent  knaves;  knaves  of  all  kinds  and  degrees,  from 
officers  with  gold  epaulettes  on  their  shoulders,  who  sometimes  con- 
descend to  relieve  (as  they  call  it)  a  fool  of  his  money  at  cards,  down 
to  thimble-rigging  at  a  fair. 

The  whole  continent  of  America,  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other, 
is  overrun  with  political  knaves  and  quack  knaves.  They  are  the 
greatest  pests  we  have.  One  undertakes  to  improve  the  constitution 
of  the  country,  and  the  other  the  constitution  of  the  body,  and  their 
everlastin'  tinkerin'  injures  both.  How  in  natur  folks  can  be  so 
taken  in,  I  don't  know.     Of  all  knaves,  I  consider  thena  two  the 


■^^ 


^ 


TUB     W  ATE  Il-G  LASS) 


>1  -''  i   I 


M 


most  (I'lugcroiw,  f  i'  both  cloal  in  poisonous  deadly  medieinGS.  On«J 
pyson^J  people's  luiuds,  and  tho  otiior  their  liudics.  One  unsettles 
their  heads,  and  the  otiier  thoir  stoniachjj,  and  1  do  believe  in  my 
heart  and  soul  that's  the  eauso  wc  Yankees  look  ko  thin,  hollow  in 
tho  cheeks,  narrow  in  the  chest,  and  gtindor-waisted.  Wo  boasf.  of 
being  tho  happiest  people  in  tho  world.  The  President  tella  tho 
Congress  that  lockruui  dvery  year,  and  every  year  the  Congress  sais, 
"  Tho'  there  ain't  much  truth  in  you,  old  slippiry-go-easy,  at  no  time, 
that^s  no  lie  at  any  rate."  Every  young  lady  sais,  "I  guess  that's 
a  fact."  And  every  boy  that  coaxed  a  little  hair  to  grow  on  his 
upper  lip,  puts  his  arm  round  his  gall's  waist  and  sais,  "That's  as 
true  as  rates,  wc  are  happy,  and  if  you  would  only  name  the  day, 
wo  shall  bo  still  happier."  Well,  this  is  all  fine  talk ;  but  what  is 
bein'  a  happy  people  ?  Let's  see,  for  hang  me  if  I  think  we  are  a 
happy  people. 

When  I  was  a  boy  to  night-school  with  my  poor  dear  old  friend, 
the  minister,  and  arterwards  in  life  as  his  oompanion,  he  was  for  ever- 
lastingly corrcctin'  me  about  words  that  I  used  wrong,  so  one  day, 
having  boon  down  to  the  sale  of  the  effects  of  the  great  llcvulutionary 
(jrcneral,  Zaddoo  Seth,  of  Holmes'  Hole,  what  docs  he  do  but  buy  ,'i 
Johnson's  Dictionary  for  me  in  two  volumes,  each  as  big  as  a  clock, 
•and  a  little  grain  heavier  than  my  wooden  ones.  "  Now,"  sais  he, 
"  do  look  out  words,  Sam,  so  as  to  know  what  you  are  a-talking 
about."  ■ 

One  day,  I  recollect  it  as  v/cll  as  if  it  was  yesterday  —  and  if  I 
loved  a  man  on  earth,  it  was  that  man  —  I  told  him  if  I  could  only 
go  to  the  Thanksgiving  Ball,  I  should  be  quite  happy. 

"  Happy  !"  said  he,  "  what's  that  ?" 

"Why  happy,"  sais  I,  "is  —  bein*  happy,  to  bo  sure." 

"  Why  that's  of  course,"  sais  he,  "  a  dollar  is  a  dollar,  but  that 
don't  inform  me  what  i  dollar  represents.  I  told  you  you  used  words 
half  tho  time  you  did'nt  understand  the  meauin'  of." 

"  But  I  do,"  sais  I ;  happy  means  being  so  glad,  your  heart  is 
ready  to  jump  out  of  its  jacket  for  joy." 

"  Yes  —  yes,"  sais  he;  "  and  I  suppose  if  it  never  jumped  back 
again,  you  would  be  unhappy  for  all  the  rest  of  your  life.  I  see  j'ou 
have  a  very  clear  conception  of  what  Miappy'  means.  Now  look  it 
out ;  let  us  sec  what  the  great  and  good  Dr.  Johnson  says." 

"  He  sais  it  is  a  state  where  the  desires  are  satisfied  —  lucky  — 
ready." 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "at  most,  as  it  applies  to  you,  if  you  get  leave 
to  go  to  the  ball,  and  you  may  go,  for  I  approbate  all  inn)cent 
amusements  for  young  people,  you  would  be  only  lucky;  and  in  a 
stale  where  one  desire  is  satisfied.  It  appears  to  mo,"  said  he,  and 
he  put  one  leg  over  tho  other,  and  laid  his  head  a  little  back,  as  if  ho 
was  a-goia'  to  lay  down  the  law,  "  that  that  eminent  man  has  omitted 


OR,     A     DAYDREAM     OF     L  I  F  E 


97 


13 


Ivo 
Int 
a 
hd 
be 


another  sense  in  wliicli  tliis  word  is  pro]»ei'ly  used — naincly,  a 
Btite  of  j(»yf'uliie8s — li^lit-iicai  todiiess — iiu'irinient,  hut  w«^  won't 
htop  to  in(|uire  into  tliar.  Jt  is  ^vvnt  ])rt',sunition  lor  the  likes  of 
mo  to  attempt  to  criticibo  J)r.  Johnson." 

Poor  dear  ohl  soul,  ho  was  a  wiser  and  a  modester  man  than  ever 
tl»o  ohl.  doctor  was.  Ffict  is,  ohl  dictionary  was  very  fond  of  play- 
in'  first  fiddle  wherever  he  was.  Thvndcriji'  long  words  aint 
wisdom,  and  stoppiii'  a  criftefs  moulk  is  more  apt  to  improve  his 
wind  than  his  oiid(trstandin\ 

•'  You  may  go  to  the  ball,''  said  he  ;  "  and  I  Ijope  you  may  bo 
happy  in  the  last  sense  I  have  f^iveii  it." 

"Thank  you  Sir,"  said  1,  and  off  I  cuts  hot  foot,  when  ho 
called^nie  back;  I  had  a  great  mind  to  pretend  not  to  iiear  him, 
for  1  was  afraid  he  was  a-goin'  to  renig — 

"  Sam,"  said  he,  and  he  h(dd  out  his  hand  and  took  mine,  and 
looked  very  seriously  at  me:  "  Sam,  my  son,"  said  ho,  *'  now  that 
1  have  granted  you  ])ormission  to  go,  there  is  one  thing  1  want 
y«ni  to  ])romise  me.  .1  think  myself  you  will  do  it  without  any 
promise,  but  I  should  ]ik(;  to  have  your  word." 

"  I  Avill  observe  any  direction  you  may  give  me,  Sir,"  said  I. 

"  Siim,"  said  he,  and  his  face  grew  so  long  and  blank,  i  hardly 
knew  what  was  a-comin'  next,  "Sam,"  said  he,  "don't  let  your 
heart  jump  out  of  its  jac'  "t,"  and  he  laid  back  in  his  chair  and 
laughed  like  anythin',  in  fac?  T  could  not  help  laughin'  myself  to 
find  it  all  eend  in  a  jol;e. 

J^resently  he  let  go  my  hand,  took  both  hisn,  and  wiped  his 
eyes,  for  tears  of  fun  were  in  'em. 

"M    ister,"  sais  I,  "  Avill  you  let  me  just  Si   '  a  word  ''" 

"  Yes,"  sais  he. 

"  Well,  according  to  Dr.  Tohnson's  third  sense,  that  was  a 
ha])])y  thought,  for  it  was  *  ready ^^ 

"  Well,  I  won't  say  it  warn't,"  said  he;  "  and,  Sarn,  in  that 
sense  you  are  likely  to  be  a  happy  man  all  your  life,  for  you  are 
always  'ready;'  take  care  you  aint  too  sharp." 

But  to  go  back,  for  I  go  round  about  sometimes.  Tho'  Daniel 
Webster,  said  I,  was  like  a  good  sportin'-dog,  if  I  did  beat  round 
the  bush,  I  always  put  up  the  birds.  What  is  a  happy  people? 
If  bavin'  enough  to  eat  and  to  drink,  wMth  rather  a  short,  just  a 
little  mite  and  mosel  too  short  an  .;,;  .ance  of  time  to  swaHer  it, 
is  bein'  happy,  then  we  are  so  bcyoiui  doubt.  If  livii.'  in  a  free 
country  like  Maine,  where  you  ar;-  <•<  mpelled  to  drink  stagnant 
swamp-water,  but  can  eat  opium  like  a  Chinese,  if  you  choose,  is 
bein'  h.'ippy,  then  we  are  a  iiappy  people. 

Just  walk  thro'  the  happy  s'  reets  of  our  happy  villages,  and  look 
at  the  men — all  busy — in  a  hurry,  thoughtful,  anxious,  full  of  busi- 
ness, toilin'  from  day  dawn  to  night — look  at  tho  women,  the  dear 
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critters,  a  little,  just  a  little  care-worn,  tiine-worn,  climate-worn, 
pretty  aa  angels,  but  not  quite  so  merry.  Follow  tlicm  in  the  even- 
ing, and  see  Avbere  them  crowds  are  going  to ;  why  to  hear  abolition 
lectures,  while  their  own  free  niggers  are  starvin',  and  are  taught 
that  stealin'  is  easier  than  workin'.  What  the  plague  they  do  have 
to  do  with  the  aflairs  of  the  South  ?  Or  to  hold  communion  witli 
evil  spirits  by  means  of  biology,  for  the  deuce  of  a  thing  else  is  that 
or  mesmeric  tricks  either?  Or  going  to  hear  a  feller  rave  at  a  pro- 
tracted nieetin',  for  the  twelfth  night,  to  convince  them  how  happy 
they  ought  to  be,  as  more  than  half  of  them  at  least,  are  to  be 
damned,  to  a  dead  sartainty  ?  Or  hear  a  mannish,  raw-boned-look- 
ing old  maid,  lecture  on  the  rights  of  women;  and  call  on  them  to 
emancipate  themselves  from  the  bondage  imposed  on  them,  of  wear- 
ing petticoats  below  their  knees?  If  women  are  equal  to  men, 
why  shouldn't  their  dress  be  equal  ?  What  right  has  a  feller  to 
wear  a  kilt  only  as  far  as  his  knee,  and  compel  his  slave  of  a  wife 
to  wear  hern  down  to  her  ankle  ?  Draw  your  scissors,  galls,  in 
this  high  cause ;  cut,  rip,  and  tear  away,  and  make  short  work  of 
it.  Rend  your  garments,  and  Ueaven  will  bless  them  that's 
^'In-lnced."  Well,  if  this  is  bein'  happy,  then  we  are  a  happy 
people. 

Folks  must  be  more  cheerful  and  light-hearted  then  we  be  to 
be  happy.  They  must  laugh  more.  Oh  1  I  like  to  hear  a  good 
jolly  laugh,  a  regular  nigger  larf — yagh !  yagh !  yagh !  My  brother, 
the  doctor,  who  has  an  immense  pn  ctice  among  the  ladies,  told 
me  a  very  odd  story  about  this. 

Sais  he,  "Sam,  cheerfulness  is  health,  and  health  is  happiness, 
as  near  as  two  things  not  exactly  identical,  can  be  alike.  I'll  tell 
you  the  secret  of  my  practice  among  the  ladies.  Cheerfulness 
appears  to  be  the  proper  remedy,  and  it  is  in  the  most  cases.  I 
extort  a  promise  of  inviolable  secrecy  from  the  patient,  and  secure 
'.he  door,  for  I  don't  want  my  prescription  to  be  known;  then  I 
bid  her  take  off  her  shoes,  and  lie  down  on  the  sofa,  and  then  I 
tickle  her  feet  to  make  her  laugh  (for  some  folks  are  so  stupid, 
all  the  good  stories  in  the  world  wouldn't  make  them  laugh),  a  good, 
joyous  laugh,  not  too  long,  for  that  is  exhaustin',  and  this  repeated 
two  or  three  times  a-day,  with  proper  regimert,  eJects  the  cure." 

Yes,  cheerfulness  is  health,  the  opposite,  melancholy,  is  disease. 
I  defy  any  people  to  be  happy,  when  they  hear  nothin'  from  morn- 
nin'  till  night,  Avhen  business  is  over,  but  politics  and  pills,  repre- 
sentatives and  lotions. 

When  I  was  at  Goshen  the  other  day,  I  asked  Dr.  Carrot  how 
many  doctors  there  were  in  the  town. 

"One  and  three-quarters,"  said  he,  very  gravely. 

Well,  knowing  how  doctors  quarrel,  and  undervalue  each  other 
in  small  places,  I  could  hardly  help  laughing  at  the  decidedly 


■A 


:  :\ 


OR,     A     DAY-DREAM     OP     LIFE 


99 


disparaging  vay  he  spoke  of  Dr.  Parsnip,  his  rival,  especially  as 
there  was  something  rather  new  in  it. 

"Three-quarters  of  a  medical  man!  "  said  I.  "I  suppose  you 
mean,  your  friend  has  not  a  regular-built  education,  and  don't  de- 
serve the  name  of  a  doctor." 

"Oh  no  !  Sir,"  said  he,  "I  would  not  speak  of  any  practition- 
er, however  ignorant,  in  that  way.  What  I  mean  is  just  this  : 
Goshen  would  maintain  two  doctors ;  but  quack  medicines,  which 
are  sold  at  all  the  shops,  take  about  three-quarters  of  the  support 
that  would  otherwise  be  contributed  to  another  medical  man." 

Good,  sais  I,  to  myself.  A  doctor  and  three-quarters!  Come, 
I  won't  forget  that,  and  here  it  is. 

Happy  !  If  Dr.  Johnson  is  right,  then  I  am  right.  He  says 
happiness  means  a  state  where  all  our  desires  are  satisfied.  Well 
now,  none  of  our  desires  are  satisfied.  We  are  told  the  affairs  of 
the  nation  are  badly  managed,  and  I  believe  they  be ;  politicians 
have  mainly  done  that.  We  are  told  our  insides  are  wrong,  and 
I  believe  they  be  ;  quack  doctors  and  their  medicines  have  main- 
ly done  that.  Happy !  How  the  plague  can  we  be  happy,  with 
our  heads  unsettled  by  politics,  and  our  stomachs  by  medicines.  It 
can't  be ;  it  ain't  in  natur',  it's  onpossible.  If  I  was  wrong,  as  a 
boy,  in  my  ideas  of  happiness,  men  are  only  full  grown  boys,  and 
are  just  as  wrong  as  I  was. 

I  ask  again  what  is  happiness  ?  It  aint  bein'  idle,  that's  a  fact 
— no  idle  man  or  woman  ever  was  happy,  since  the  world  began. 
Eve  was  idle,  and  that's  the  way  she  g'ot  tempted,  poor  critter; 
employment  gives  both  appetite  and  digestion.  Duty  makes  jjlcds- 
urc  douhljj  sweet  bij  contrast.  When  the  harness  is  off,  if  the  work 
aint  too  hard,  a  critter  likes  to  kick  up  his  heels.  WJien  pleasure 
is  the  business  of  life,  it  ceases  to  be  ^7/e««Mre  /  and  when  ifs  all 
labour  and  no  ylay^  work  like  an  onstuffed  saddle  cuts  into  the 
very  bone.  Neither  labour  nor  idleness  has  a  road  that  leads  to 
happiness,  one  has  no  room  for  the  heart,  and  the  other  corrupts  it. 
Hard  work  is  the  best  of  the  two,  for  that  has  at  all  events  sound 
sleep — the  othei;  has  restless  pillows  and  onrefreshin'  slumbers — 
one  is  misfortune,  the  other  is  a  curse;  and  money  aint  happiness, 
that's  as  clear  as  mud. 

There  was  a  feller  to  Slickville  once  called  Dotey  Conkey,  and 
he  sartinly  did  look  dotey  like  lumber  that  aint  squared  down 
enough  to  cut  the  sap  off.  He  was  always  a  wishing.  I  used  to 
call  him  Wishey  Washey  Dotey.  "Sam,"  he  used  to  eay,  I  wish 
I  Mjas  rich." 

"  So  do  I,"  I  used  to  say. 

"If  I  had  fifty  thousand  dollars,"  he  said,  "I  wouldn't  call  the 
President  my  cousin." 

"Well,"  sais  I»  "  I  can  do  that  now,  poor  as  I  be  ;  he  is  uo  cousin 


100 


OLD    SARSAPARILLA     IMLLS. 


!*    • 


its 


of  iriine,  and  if  he  was  he'd  be  no  credit,  for  he  is  no  great  shakes. 
Genih'uuMi  now  don't  set  up  for  that  office;  they  can't  live  on  it." 

"Oli,  i  don't  mean  that,"  he  said,  "but  fifty  thousand  doHars, 
Sam,  oidy  think  of  that;  aint  it  a  great  suni,  that;  it's  all  I 
shonKl  ask  in  this  workl  of  providence:  if  I  had  that  I  sliould  be 
the  li.Mppiest  man  that  ever  was." 

"iJot«'y,"  sais  I,  "  would  it  cure  you  of  the  coiic?  you  know  how 
you  Buiier  from  that." 

"Phooi"  sais  he. 

*'Well,  what  would  you  do  with  it?"  sais  I. 

'•I  Avoiild  go  and  travel,"  sais  he,  "and  get  into  society  and  see 
the  world." 

''Would  it  educate  you,  Dotey,  at  your  age  give  you  French 
and  (iernian,  Latin  and  Greek,  and  so  on?" 

"itire  it,  Sum,"  sais  he,  touching  his  nose  with  his  fore-finger. 

"And  nianucrs,"  sais  I,  "could  you  hire  that'/  I  will  tell  you 
what  it  could  do  for  you.  You  could  getdruidc  every  night  if  you 
]ik('(i,  surround  yourself  with  spongers,  horse  jockies,  ami  foreign 
counts,  and  go  to  the  devil  by  rail-road  instead  of  a  one  horse  shay." 

Well,  ;\s  luck  would  have  it,  he  drew  a  prize  in  the  lottery  at 
New  Orleans  of  just  that  sura,  and  in  nine  months  he  was  cleaned 
out,  and  sent  to  the  asylum.  It  taint  cash  then  that  gains  it ; 
that's  as  plain  as  preaching.     What  is  it  then  that  confers  it? 

"A  rope,"  said  Blowhard,  as  we  reached  the  side  of  the  'Nan- 
taskct,'  "  in  with  your  oars  my  men.  Now  Mr,  Slick,  let's  take  a 
dose  of  Sarsl])arUhj  ^^ills" 


I  > 


t   • 


If-: 

! 


CHAPTER   XI. 

OLD     SARSAPARILLA    PILLS. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Attachy,"  said  Blowhard,  as  we  mounted  the  deck 
of  the  *  Nantasket,'  "let's  go  down  to  Apothecary's  Hall;"  and 
he  larfed  agin  in  great  good  humour. 

When  we  entered  the  cabin,  which  sartainly  looked  more  like  au 
herb  uid  medicine  shop  than  any  thin'  else,  we  found  the  Oapting 
seated  at  the  table,  with  a  pair  of  small  scales  in  his  hand,  carefully 
adjiistiii'  the  weight  of  somethin' that  had  just  been  prepared  by  a 
boy,  who  sat  in  the  corner,  and  was  busy  with  a  pestle  and  mortar. 

"  How  are  you,  Doctor?"  said  Blowhard  in  his  blandest  manner. 
"This  is  Mr.  Slick.  We  have  come  to  ask  you  if  you  will  take 
a  patient  on  board,  who  wants  to  return  home,  and  whom  Provi- 
dence has  just  sent  you  in  here  to  relieve  1  " 


OLD     S  A  R  S  A  P  A  R  I  L  L  A     PILLS. 


101 


''What's  the  matter  Avith  him.'"  iiujuircd  the  quack  Capthi, 
witli  the  ah'  of  a  nian  who  had  but  to  liear  aud  to  euro. 

Love  explained  brefly  the  jstate  ol'  the  case ;  aud,  having;  ob- 
tained his  consent,  asked  me  to  request  one  of  the  hands  to  hoist 
a  fla^,  as  the  signal  agreed  upon  for  bringing  the  invalid  on  board. 

"  Proud  to  see  you,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  the  quack  Captin.  "  Take 
a  cliair,  and  bring  yourself  to  an  anchor.  You  are  Avelcome  on 
board  tlie  '  Nantasket.'  " 

Instead  of  an  aged  man,  witli  a  white  beard,  large  spectacles,  and 
an  assumed  look  of  great  experience,  as  I  expected  to  have  seen, 
from  the  nickname  of"  Old  Sarsaparilla  Pills,"  given  to  him  by  the 
skipper.  1  was  surprised  to  find  he  was  not  past  five-and-thirty  years 
of  age.  He  was  a  sort  of  French  craft  on  a  vigorous  Yankee  stock. 
His  chiu  and  face  were  covered  with  long  black  hair,  out  of  whicli 
twinkled  a  pair  of  bright,  sparkling,  restless  eyes.  His  dress  and 
talk  was  New  England,  bat  French  negligence  covered  all,  and  was 
as  onploasaut  and  disorderly  as  the  deck  ;  for  the  Yankees  are  a 
neat  peojile,  in  a  ^neral  way,  and  like  to  see  things  snug  and  tidy. 
If,  in  his  appearance,  he  was  halt'  French  and  half  Yankee,  it  was 
plain  he  Avas  also  half  knave  and  half  goney.  The  oidy  thing  I 
saw  to  like  about  him  was,  that  he  was  a  man  with  a  theory  ;  and  a 
theory,  to  my  mind,  Avhethcr  in-  political  economy  or  in  medicine, 
is  the  most  beautiful  tiling  in  tlie  Avorld. 

They  say  an  empty  bag  can't  stand  straight.  Well,  Avho  the 
plague  cares  if  it  can't  Avhen  yon  have  nothin'  to  put  into  it  ?  for  it 
would  only  be  in  the  Avay,  and  take  up  room,  if  it  could.  Noav,  a 
theorv  Avill  stand  as  straisrht  as  a  bullrush,  Avithout  a  fact  at  all, 
Arguments,  probabilities,  and  lies  Avill  do  just  as  Avell.  But  if  folks 
must  have  facts,  Avhy  the  only  plan  is  to  manufacture  'em.  What's 
the  use  of  the  Crystal  I'alace,  and  all  its  discoveries,  if  statesmen 
can't  invent  facts  ?  Sometimes  one  fact  depends  on  another,  aud 
that  on  a  third,  and  so  on.  Well,  to  make  anything  of  them,  you 
must  reason.  Well,  Avhat  on  airth  is  the  use  of  reason  ?  Did  you 
ever  see  a  man  that  could  reason  if  A  dog  can,  but  then  a  dog  has 
some  sense.  If  he  counts  to  a  place  Avhere  four  roads  meet,  he  stops 
and  considers,  and  weighs  all  the  probabilities  of  the  case, /-'/•o  and 
cuu  for  each  road.  At  last,  he  makes  up  his  mind  ;  goes  on  confi- 
dent ;  and  ninety-nine  times  out  of  a  hundred,  he  is  right.  But 
place  a  man  there,  andAvhat  Avould  he  do  ?  Why  he'd  look  like  a 
ravin',  distracted  fool  :  he'd  scratch  his  head,  and  say,  "  I  don't 
know,  1  declare ;  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure  ;"  the  only  thing  the 
critter  is  sure  about.  And  then  he'd  sit  down  on  a  stone,  and 
Avait  till  some  one  come  by  to  tell  him. 

Well,  after  waitin'  there  till  he  is  eon  amost  tired  out,  the  first 
man  that  rides  by,  he'd  jump  up  so  siuldcn,  he'd  scare  the  horse, 
that  shies  aAvfully,  and  nearly  spills  the  rider  ;  and  Avouldu't  he  get 
9* 


102 


OLD     6ARSAPARILLA      PILLS. 


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1:4 


more  blessings  than  would  last  him  a  whole  whalin'  voyage  1  "Well, 
the  next  man  that  comes  by,  drivin'  in  a  gig,  he  goes  more  coolly  to 
work  to  stop  ;  when  traveller  pulls  out  a  pistol,  and  sais,  "  Stand  off, 
you  villian  !  I  am  armed,  and  will  fire  !  "  Well,  the  third  sets  a 
fierce  dog  on  him,  and  asks  him  what  he  is  a  doin'  of  there  ?  And 
when  he  inquires  the  way,  he  puts  his  finger  to  his  nose,  and  says, 
''That  cat  won't  jump,  old  boy.''  Well,  the  next  chap  that  comes 
along,  is  a  good-natured  feller.  He  is  a  whistlin'  a  tune,  or  singing 
an  air,  as  light-hearted  as  you  please  ;  and  hittin'  of  loose  stones 
with  his  cane,  as  he  trips  along ;  and  when  he  axes  him  the  way, 
he  shows  it  to  him  as  perlite  as  possible,  and  says  it  is  the  very 
road  he  is  going,  and  will  walk  abit  with  him  to  the  next  turn, 
where  they  must  part. 

This  world  aint  so  bad,  after  all,  as  it  looks ;  there  are  some 
good-natured  folks  In  it,  that's  a  fact,  that  will  do  a  civil  thing  now 
and  then  for  nothin'  but  the  pleasure,  but  they  aint  quite  as  thick 
as  blackberries,  I  can  tell  you. 

Well,  at  the  turn  of  the  road  there  is  an  ale-house,  and  the 
good-natured  stranger  pulls  out  some  money,  like  a  good  Samaritan, 
and  gives  him  a  drink  for  nothin.' 

"  Now,"  sais  he,  "  friend,  suppose  you  qualify  ?  " 

"  Qualify  ?  "  sais  the  critter,  more  puzzled  than  he  was  at  tho 
four  roads.  "  Qualify  !  does  that  mean  stand  treat  1  for  if  it  doeth, 
1  don't  care  if  I  does," 

"  Come,  none  of  that  nonsense,  my  good  feller,"  sais  the  other, 
wliose  air  and  manner  is  changed  in  a  minute,  so  that  he  don't  look 
like  the  same  man.  "  Come,  come,  you  aint  so  soft  as  that.  You 
are  listed.  Feel  in  your  waistcoat  pocket,  and  there  is  her  Maj- 
esty's shilling." 

"  Danged  if  I  do,"  sais  this  vartuous  and  reasonable  being ; 
•'  danged  if  I  do  ;  1 11  fight  till  I  die  fust — "  when  he  is  knocked 
down,  hears  a  whistle,  and  three  men  come  in,  iron  him  to  another 
feller  that  didn't  know  the  road  any  better  than  him,  and  off  he  is 
marched  to  see  his  oflicer. 

I  saw  that  critter  mountin'  guard  at  the  Ordnance  Gate,  at  Halifax, 
last  winter  at  night,  mercury  sixteeii  below  zero,  cold  enough  amost 
to  freeze  the  hair  off  of  a  dog's  back.  That's  because  he  couldn't 
reason.  Little  doggy  we've  seen  could  reason  v»nd  reason  well, 
and  was  home  half  an  hour  before  •  thirteen-pence  a-day'  was  lis- 
ted, to  have  a  finger,  or  a  toe,  or  an  ear  froze  off  on  duty.  There 
is  no  pension  for  a  toe,  unless  it's  the  gout  in  an  old  admiral  or 
gineral's  toe. 

No,  reasonin'  is  no  good.  That  that  is  good  reasonin'  aint  market- 
able, bad  reasonin  is  like  some  factory  cloth,  half  cotton,  half  old 
clothes,  carded  over  agin'  at  Manchester,  and  is  low-priced,  just  fit 

ed  under 


way, 


get 


party 


hi 


OLD     SARSAPARILLA     PILLS. 


103 


•  Maj- 


P 


l(3a(liM",  That's  tlie  caso  too  with  freo.-traders,  they  sin<2^out'  cheap 
broad  ;'  it  don't  want  reasoiiin'  except  clieap  reasoiiin'.  Don't 
cheap  hread  cost  less  tliait  dear  bread  ?  Why  yes,  in  course  it 
does.  Well  then  iVee-trade  does  that ;  don't  you  wish  you  may 
be  better  of  it.  No,  reasonin'  is  no  good,  and  facts  are  no  good; 
i'or  they  aie  as  cheap  as  words  which  only  cost  a  halfpenny  a  hun- 
dred, and  two  farthings  change  given  back. 

1  like  a  theory  ;  it  is  a  grand  thing  to  work  a  I'arni  by  whcm 
you  liave  no  experience,  and  govern  a  nation  by  when  the  eh'ct- 
ors  are  as  wise  as  that  are  racruit,  that  couldn't  even  follow  his 
nose.  Captin  Furhjng  had  a  theory,  and  hadn't  he  asgood  a  right  to 
have  oi'.e  as  Peel, or  any  other  practitioner,  either  in  politics.or  med- 
icine, or  farniin'  or  anythin'  else  ?     Why  to  be  sure  ho  had. 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  said  he,  and  he  put  one  leg  over  the  other,  threw 
his  head  back,  and  gave  nia  a  sort  of  fixed  stare,  just  one  of  those 
stares  you  see  a  follow  now  and  then  put  on  who  shuts  to  his  ears 
and  opens  his  eyes  wide,  as  inuch  as  to  say  "  now  don't  interrupt 
nic,  fm-  1  mean  to  have  all  the  talk  to  myself."  Whenever  I  see 
a  critter  do  that,  I  am  sure  to  stop  him  every  minute,  for  1  have 
no  notion  of  a  fellow  taking  me  like  a  laml),  and  tying  me  hand 
and  foot  to  offer  up  as  a  sacrilice  to  his  vanity.  "  Mr.  Slick,"  said 
he,  "  I  have  a  theory." 

"  'Zactly,"  said  I,  "  it's  just  what  you  ought  to  have  ;  you  can 
no  more  get  on  in  medicine  without  a  theory  to  carry  out,  than  a 
receipt  to  work  by.  I  knowed  a  chap  OMCt — "  but  he  gave  me 
the  dodge,  cut  in  agin,  and  led  off. 

"  I  have  a  theory  that  for  every  disease  natur'  has  provided  a 
voiuedy,  if  we  could  onl}  find  it." 

"  'Zactly,"  said  1,  "let  natur'  alone,  and  nine  times  out  often  she 
will  effect  a  cure  ;  it's  my  theory  that  more  folks  die  of  the  doctor 
than  the  disease.  1  knew  a  feller  onct — "  but  he  headd  me  agin 

"  Now  this  remedy  is  to  be  found  in  simjiles,  herbs,  barks,  vege- 
tables, and  so  on.  The  aborigines  of  no  country  ever  were  sap- 
pers and  miners,  Mr.  Slick,  many  of  them  were  so  ignorant  as  not 
even  to  know  the  use  of  fire,  and  therefore  the  remedy  was  never 
intended  to  be  hid,  like  mercury  and  zinc  and  what  not,  in  the  beco- 
wels  of  the  earth." 

"  'Zactly,"  said  I,  "  but  in  the  beeowels  of  the  patient" 

He  lifted  up  his  hairy  upper  lip  at  that,  and  backed  agin  his 
nose,  for  all  the  world  as  you  have  seed  a  horse  poke  out  his  head, 
and  strip  his  mouth,  that  was  rather  proud  of  his  teeth;  but  he 
went  on  : 

"  There  is  a  specific  and  an  antidote  for  everythin'  in  natur.'  " 

"  'Zactly,"  sais  I.  "  Do  you  know  .ni  antidote  for  fleas  1  for  I  do. 
It's  a  plant  found  in  every  sizable  sarce  garden ;  they  hate  it  like 
pyson.  I  never  travc'  without  it.  When  1  was  in  Italy  last,  I  slept 


104 


OLD    SAIISAPAUILLA     PILLS. 


tlit 


lUli 


Bf 


if 


i 


in  a  (louble-bcdJcd  room  with  tho  Honourable  Erastus  Cassina,  a 
senator  from  Alligator  Gully  to  Congress,  and  the  fleas  was  awful 
thick.  So  I  jiat  took  out  of  the  pocket  of  my  dressin'-gown  four 
little  bags  of  this  '  flea-antidote ;'  two  I  put  on  the  bed,  and  two 
under  it.  Oh  !  if  there  warn't  a  flight  in  Egypt  that  night,  it's  a 
pity  I     In  a  few  minutes,  Erastus  called  out : 

"  '  Slick  !  Slick  !'  said  he,  '  are  you  awake  1" 

" '  What  in  natur'  is  the  matter  ?"  sais  I. 

*' '  Oh,  the  fleas  !  the  fleas !'  said  he.  *  Clouds  on  'em  are  lightin* 
on  my  bed,  and  I  shall  be  devoured  alive.  They  are  wus  than  alli- 
gators, for  tJiet/  do  the  job  for  you  in  two  twos  j  but  these  imps  of 
darkness  nibble  you  up,  and  take  all  night  to  it.  They  are  so  spry, 
you  can't  catch  'em,  and  so  small  you  can't  shoot  'em.  I  do  believe 
every  flea  in  the  house  is  coming  here.'  * 

"'That's  the  cane-juice  that's  in  you,'  sais  I;  'you  are  the 
sweetest  man  alive — all  sugar ;  they  are  no  fools,  are  fleas.' 

"  *  Do  they  bother  you  ?'  said  he. 

"  '  No,'  sais  I,  '  I  hante  one.' 

" '  Then/  sai<l  he,  '  let  me  turn  in  with  you,  friend  Slick,  that's  a 
good  feller,  for  I'm  in  an  awful  stale.' 

"'That  cat  won't  jump.  Senator/  sais  T,  'for  they  will  foller  you 
here  too,  for  the  sake  of  the  cane-juice.  You  must  drink  vinegar 
and  get  sour,  and  smoke  tobaeky  and  pyson  them.'  Now,  Capting/' 
sais  I,  "  I  have  an  antidote  for  bugs  too — better,  simpler,  and  shorter 
than  any  Apothecary's  ointments.  I  hold  them  two  critters  to  be  the 
pest  of  the  world.  The  Nova  Scotia  Indgians  call  fleas  loalkvm- 
fasts,  and  bugs  tvalkum-idows.  They  say  fleas  travel  so  fast,  they 
can't  shake  'em  ofi^. 

"Now  I  have  a  theory  about  fleas.  I  don't  believe  one  word  of 
history  about  the  Goths,  and  Vandals,  and  Huns.  I  believe  it  was 
an  irruption  of  fleas  that  followed  the  legions  back,  and  overrun 
Rome.  And  my  facts  are  as  good  as  Gibbon's  for  a  theory  any  day. 
I  told  that  story  about  the  fleas  to  the  Pope,  who  larfed  ready  to  kill 
himself,  but  kept  a  scratchiu'  rather  oudignified  all  the  time.  '  Mr. 
Slick,'  said  he,  '  I  will  give  you  a  thousand  dollars  for  that  receipt,' 
and  he  smiled  very  good-natured;  'for  fleas,'  said  he,  'have  no  re- 
spect for  the  Church.'  But  our  minister  to  St.  Jamea's,  who  was  at 
Rome  at  the  time  on  business,  told  me  it  would  lower  our  great  na^ 
tion  for  an  Attach6  to  sell  flea-antidotes  and  bug-exterminators,  and 
his  Holiness  and  I  didn't  trade. 

"Biit  if  a  man  was  to  travel  with  that  little  simple  remedy 
through  Portugal,  Spain,  France  and  Italy,  Switzerland  and  shores 
of  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  where  fleas  are  as  big  as  horse-flies,  ho 
would  make  the  largest  fortin  ever  bagged  by  any  one  man  ia  this 
universal  world." 


y 

n 


I 


' 


OLD    SARSAPAniLLA    PILLS. 


105 


the 


)re3 

ho 

"this 


I 


"Will  you  tako  what  the  Pope  offered  }ou,  now?"  said  CaptiDg 
Furlong. 

"  Oh,  oh,  old  boy  1"  sais  I  to  myself,  ''you  have  opened  your  cars, 
have  you  ?  I  thought  I'd  improve  your  heariu'  for  you.  Say  three," 
sais  I,  "  aud  the  secret  and  patent  is  yours." 

"  Can't  cotne  it,"  sais  he. 

"Then  I  withdraw  the  offer,  Capting;  if  you  want  it  you  must 
pay  higher.  But  go  on;  you  interest  me  greatly."  I  thought  I 
should  have  split  when  I  said  that,  for  I  hadn't  allowed  him  to  say 
a  word  hardly. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  but  that  story  of  the  fleas  nearly  upset  him, 
"  everything  has  its  specific  and  its  antidote.  Now  my  sarsaparilly 
pills  has  made  a  fortune  for  old  Jacob  Worldscnd,  to  whom  I  was 
fool  enough  to  sell  the  secret  for  three  thousand  dollars,  and  it  railly 
is  all  it's  cracked  up  to  be.  ]3ut,  Mr.  Slick,  I  have  at  last  made  a 
discovery  that  will  astonish  the  world.  I  have  found  a  certain  and 
sure  cure  for  the  dropsy.  It  is  an  extract  of  a  plant  that  is  common 
in  the  woods,  and  is  applied  externally  as  a  lotion,  and  internally  as 
pills.  I  have  proved  it;  I  have  the  affidavits  of  more  than  fifty 
people  I  have  cured." 

And  he  smote  the  table,  stroked  his  beard  down,  and  smiled  as 
pleased  as  a  feller  that's  fuund  a  nugget  of  gold  as  big  as  his  head, 
and  looked  at  me  with  a  self-satisfied  air,  as  much  as  to  say,  Mr. 
Slick,  don't  you  wish  you  was  me  ? 

Now,  thinks  I,  is  the  time  to  cut  in.  Whenever  a  feller  is  fool 
enough  to  stand  up  in  the  stirrups,  aud  you  can  see  daylight  atweeu 
him  and  the  saddle,  that's  your  ch-ance ;  give  him  a  lift  then  ondcr 
one  foot,  and  he  is  over  in  no  time. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  I,  "  if  that  was  a  sartain  cure." 

"Wonder,"  said  he,  "why  I  know  it  is." 

"'Zactly,"  said  I;  "I  have  knowed  it  this  long  time — long  before 
you  ever  see  this  coast." 

"What  is  it?"  said  he.  "Write  the  word  down,  for  partitions 
have  ears." 

Well,  I  took  the  pen,  as  if  I  was  going  to  do  as  he  asked,  and 
then  suddenly  stopped,  and  said  : 

"Yes,  and  give  you  my  secret.  Oh,  no!  that  won't  do;  but  it 
has  a  long  stalk." 

"Exactly,"  said  he. 

"  And  leaves  not  onlike  those  of  a  horse-chesnut." 

"Which  gender  is  it?"  said  he,  gaspin'  for  breath,  and  opcnin' 
of  his  ugly  mug,  till  it  looked  like  a  hole  made  in  a  bear-skiu  of  a 
eleigh  to  pass  a  strap  through. 

"Feminine  gender,"  said  I. 

"The  devil  \"  said  he,  aud  I  thought  he  would  have  fainted. 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  said  Blowhard,  "  I'll  back  you  agin  any  man  I  ever 


106 


OLD    SARSAPARILLA    PILLS. 


ffj 


Bco  for  a  knowledge  of  things  in.  gincral,  and  melf  and  women  in 
particnlar.     What  the  deuce  don't  you  know  ?" 

<'  Why  I'll  toll  you,"  f^ais  I,  "  what  I  don't  know.  •  I  don't  know 
i;ow  the  plague  it  is  a  squid  can  swim  either  end  foremost,  like  a 
pin]'';y  steamer,  without  having  eyes  in  the  starn  also,  or  why  it 
hasn't  a  bone  at  all,  when  a  shad  is  chock  full  of  'em.  And  I 
can't  tell  why  it  can  live  five  days  out  of  water,  when  a  herring 
dies  slick  off  at  onct." 

"  Well — well,"  said  Love:  "  who'd  a-thought  you'd  have  observed 
such  things !" 

Furlong  was  so  astonished  at  my  having  his  dropsy  secret,  ho 
didn't  hear  a  word  of  this  by-talk;  but  lookin'  up,  half-scared,  ho 
said : 

"  That's  witchcraft." 

"Well,  it  might  be,"  said  I,  "for  two  old  women  found  it  out; 
they  actilly  didn't  look  onlike  witches.  Old  Sal  Slaughtery,  that 
lives  to  the  Falls,  on  the  south  branch  of  the  river  at  the  Country 
Ila.rbour,  and  keeps  a  glass  of  good  whiskey  for  salmon-fishers,  fust 
told  me,  and  old  Susan,  the  Indian  squaw,  was  the  one  that  discov- 
ered it." 

"That  beats  the  bugs,"  said  the  skipper,  looking  aghast,  and 
drawin'  off  his  chair,  as  if  he  thought  old  Scratch  had  some  hand 
In  it. 

"No,"  said  I,  "Not  the  hugs,  but  tje  dropsy. " 

"Phoo!"  said  he;  "I  didn't  mean  that." 

"Don't  be  afeard  of  nie,"  said  I;  "I  scorn  a  mean  action  as  1 
do  a  nigger.  I  won't  blow  you;  part  of  the  invention  is  yourn, 
and  that  is,  rcducin'  it  to  pills,  for  the  old  gal  only  knew  of  the  de- 
coction, and  that  is  good  enough.  But  you  must  give  Sal  fifty  dol- 
lars when  3'ou  take  out  the  patent;  it  is  i  great  sum  to  her,  and  will 
fill  her  heart,  and  her  whiskcy-eask  Uo." 

"Done,"  said  he.  "Now,  Mr.  Slick,  have  you  any  more  medi- 
cal secrets  of  natur'  ?" 

"  1  have,"  said  I.  "  I  can  cure  the  jaundice  in  a  few  days,  when 
the  doctors  can  n)ako  no  fist  at  it,  any  how  they  can  fix  it;  and  the 
remedy  is  on  every  farm,  only  they  don't  know  it.  I  can  cure  in  an 
hour  or  two  that  awful  ague  in  the  lace,  that  folks,  and  specially 
women,  are  subject  to;  and  can  make  skin  grow  when  it  is  broken 
on  the  shin-bone,  and  other  awkward  places,  even  in  the  case  of  an 
old  man,  that  doctors  only  make  wus ;  and  effect  a  hundred  other 
cures.  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there,  and  I  aint  a-goin'  to  set 
up  for  a  doctor;  I  didn't  come  to  brag,  but  lam.  That  is  a  great 
herbal  cure  you  have  got  hold  of  tho' — that's  a  fact/'  said  L 
"What  arc  you  goin'  to  call  it?" 

"  Sure  and  safe  remedy  for  the  dropsy,"  said  he. 

"You  won't  sell  a  bottle,"  sais  I.     "Simple  will  do  very  well 


V 


OLD     RARSAPAUlMiA    PIIiLS 


107 


m 


as  1 
ourn, 
e  de- 
'dol- 

will 


[ially 

jken 

If  an 

Ither 
set 
treat 
L 


rell 


r 


mside  (and  tho  simpler  they  are  the  safer  tbcy  be),  but  not  outside 
of  patent  medicines.  Call  it  '  the  Vegetable  Anasarca  Specific/  an 
'»asy,  safe,  pljisant,  and  speedy  cure  for  anasarca,  or  dropsy  in  the 
skin;  tho  ascites,  or  dropsy  in  the  stomach;  the  hydrops  pectoris, 
or  dropsy  in  tho  breast;  and  the  hydrocephalus,  or  dropsy  of  tho 
brain.  Put  the  iirst  in  gohi  letters  on  t!io  labels,  the  second  in 
green,  the  third  in  pink,  and  the  fourth  in  blue.  You  must  have  u 
fine  name  to  please  the  car,  a  nice-looking  bottle  to  please  the  eye, 
and  somethin'  that  is  parfumed  and  smells  nice  to  please  the  nose. 
But  everything  is  in  a  name. 

"When  I  was  to  Windsor,  Nova  Scotia,  I  met  an  old  nigger; 
which  we  call  a  Chesapeak  nigger,  one  of  them  Admiral,  Sir  John 
Warren,  was  fool  enough  to  give  IJlucnose  to  support.  I  was  then 
about  three  miles  out  of  the  village.  '  Well,  Cato  Cooper,'  sais  I, 
'  what  little  church  is  that  standin'  there  1" 

"  *  Dat  nigger  church,  massa,'  said  he.  *  Built  a  purpose  for 
niggers." 

"  '  Well,  I  hope  you  go  often  ?' 

"  '  Dat  is  jist  what  I  do,  massa.  College  students  preach  dere, 
and  dere  is  one  of  do  most  beautifullest  preachers  'mong  'em  you  eber 
did  hear  respond  to  a  text.  Oh  !  he  splains  it  rail  handsome.  Neb- 
ber  was  nulfiu  lil?e  it,  his  sartuon  is  more  nor  half  Latin  and  Greek, 
it  are  beautiful  to  hear,  there  aint  a  nigger  in  de  settlement  don't  go 
to  listen  to  him ;  it's  rail  dictionary.  He  convarted  me.  I  is  a 
Christian  now,  since  I  know  all  blacks  are  to  be  received  into  do 
kitchen  ob  Heaven.' 

"  Now  that  nigger  is  a  sample  of  mankind,  big  words  look  larnec', 
and  please  them. 

"Well,  I  have  a  theory  about  that,"  said  the  quack  captain. 
"Mankind  are  gullible,  that's  a  fact,  they'll  swaller  anything  amost, 
if  you  only  know  how  to  talk  'em  into  it;  that's  the  only  secret 
how  to  ])eiM;;ide  'em.     Mankind  lives  on  promises." 

"Well,"  siis  I,  "gullible  means  taking  things  down  like  gulls, 
and  they  are  uwful  hungry  birds.  They  go  screamin  about  the  mud 
flat  of  the  river  in  the  basin  of  Minas,  like  mad,  and  swaller  a  whole 
herring  one  aiier  another  without  winkiu' ;  and  now  and  then  a  clam, 
shell  and  all,  as  fowls  do  gravel  to  help  digestion,  but  cover  a  her- 
ring over  with  your  nasty  stuff",  and  see  if  it  wouldn't  scream  loud 
enough  to  wake  the  dead  amost.  You  must  treat  men  as  you  would 
children.  Tell  them  to  shut  their  eyes  and  open  their  mouths  and 
take  v.hat  you  give  them,  a.s  you  do  when  you  play  with  the  little 
dears,  and  as  long  as  it  is  sweet  and  pleasant  they  will  swaller  any- 
thin'.  Why  tlio  plague  do  doctors,  who  live  by  the  scllin'  of  medi- 
cine, make  it  so  nasty;  no  created  critter  can  git  it  down  without 
makin'  faces  that  would  scare  a  horse.  The  balm  of  Gilead  man, 
Doctor  Soloman;  knew  this  secret,  his  balm  was  nothin  tut  a  dram, 


m 


w 


':  I 


JOS 


OLD    8ARSAPAUILLA    PILLS. 


tind  tliat's  tho  reason  all  tlin  old  ladies  praised  it.     But  go  on,"  said 
I,  "  I  Mill  afcard  I  have;  iutcrruprod  you;  you  interest  nio  greatly. 

"  Well,"  sals  lie,  "it's  very  kind  of  you  to  say  so,  but  it  strikes 
nio,"  and  ho  seratehed  his  head,  "  [  haven't  said  much  to  interest 
any  oiui." 

"  Oil,  yes,"  sai.s  I,  "  that  theory  of  yours,  that  natur'  iivs  a 
remeily  fi)r  cverythiu',  is  very  curious  and  original;  go  on,  Sir." 

Well,  tho  goncy  was  tickled  with  that  touch  of  tho  soft-sawder 
brush.  Whenever  you  see  i.  feller  that  can  flatter  himself  into  the 
opinion  that  a  hairy  face  is  becomin',  it  aiut  no  difficult  thing  for 
anybody  to  wheedle  hi'm. 

"  Well,"  sais  he,  *'  I  have  a  theory,  that  everything  that  partains 
to  tho  secret  workings  of  natur'  ought  to  bo  invested  with  mystery. 
Women  especially  love  mystery.  Only  tell  them  there  is  a  secret, 
and  see  how  their  curiosity  wakens  up,  and  their  eyes  twinkle.  Dis- 
guise is  the  great  thing  in  medicine.  Now  the  difficulty  is,  so  to 
disguise  this  dropsy  cure,  that  botanists  and  chemists  would  tind 
h  out." 

"'Zactly,"  sais  I;  for  as  he  sot  out  dctaruiined  not  to  hear,  I  was 
detarmined  he  shouldn't  tallc  long.  '^'Zactly,"  sais  I;  "now  that's 
what  I  call  sense,  and  a  knowledge  of  human  natur'.  I  see  you 
warn't  born  yesterday.     Now  .sec  how  you're  disguised." 

"  Me !"  said  he,  looking  all  adrift. 

*'  Yes,"  sais  I,  "you.  Who  in  the  world  would  take  you  for  what 
you  be?  You  are  the  master  of  a  mackerel- vessel,  with  a  consi- 
derable knowledge  of  medicine ;  but  you  look  like  a  French  dragoon 
officer.  If  cU  Buonaparte  was  to  wake  up,  he  would  swear  you  was 
Marshal  Grouchy,  for  you  two  look  as  much  alike  as  two  peas." 

"  Well,"  said  the  feller,  stroking  his  beard  down,  and  looking 
pleased,  "my  face  is  in  disorder  now,  Mr.  Slick,  but  when  trimmed 
it  aint  without  its  effect  on  the  ladies,  I  do  assure  you." 

"I    shouldn't  wonder  if  it  had   a   peeovverful   effect,"    sais   I; 
"  'specially  if  they  was  in  delicate  health,  and  came  sudden  on  it." 
Th    oonsaited  goney  made  me  so  mad,  I  had  a  great  mind  to  givo 
him  chloriform,  and  shave  him ;  and  I  actiliy  would,  too,  if  I  had 
had  time,  hang  me  if  I  wouldn't. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  sais  I,  "  everybody  is  in  disgui.se.  Politicians  pre- 
tend to  be  patriots ;  women  cover  their  designs  and  their  temper 
with  smiles ;  hypocrites  look  pious  to  cheat  you,  or  are  so  frank  and 
manly,  look  you  so  friendly  in  the  face  straight  in  the  eyes,  and 
shake  hands  so  warmly  with  you,  that  I  defy  you  not  to  be  took  in. 
Innkeepers  are  so  glad  to  see  you,  it  makes  you  kind  of  ashamed  of 
your  friend's  coldness;  but  the  moment  y  u  can't  pay  the  bill,  they 
kick  you  right  out  of  the  house.  Sev\,ints  bow  and  smile,  and 
curtsey  and  scrape  before  you,  and  go  right  down  stairs,  and  say, 
'  There's  no  pleasin'  that  old  devil.     I'll  give  him  notice  he  must 


OLD     SARKAPARILLA     FILLS. 


109 


said 


ang 
imed 

I; 


give 
had 


pre- 
ipcr 
and 
and 


cjnit.  if  lie  don't  bolinvo  bettor;'  and  then  they  all  larf  ready  to 
(Vw,  «t  the  joke.  IMieii  they  mimic  your  voice,  and  say  to  each 
other,  '  Yon  really  mnst  leave  the  house  if  you  make  Huch  a  noise  ;' 
and  then  they  larf  louder  than  ever,  and  take  a  regular  }?nnio 
of  romps,  and  say,  '  Wlio  carofl  ?  '  I  tell  you  the  world  is  all  in 
<lis(;iiiKe.  But  go  on,  Sir,  I  like  to  hear  you  talk,  you  interest  nie 
'greatly.     I'inisli  about  your  theory." 

•']\Ir.  Silck,"  said  he,  ''have  marev.  I  knock  under — I  holler. 
1  have  talked  foolish,  T  do  believe;  but  I  forgot  who  I  was  talkin' 
to,  though  in  a  giiieral  way  that  sort  of  laying  down  the  law  does 
answer,  that's  a  fact  But  tell  me,  j»lease,  how  in  the  world  did 
you  pick  uy)  so  many  medical  secrets  ?  " 

•'  Well,  I  have  promised  not  to  blow  you,  and  f  hope  you  won't 
be  oflfcnded  with  me  if  1  do  tell  you." 

"  Sartaiidy  not,"  said  he. 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "excuse  me,  if  you  please,  but  you  like  to  do 
ad  the  talkin'  yourself,  and  don't  want  to  listen  to  others.  Now 
I  open  my  eyes  as  well  as  my  month,  hear,  see,  and  learn  what  I 
can,  as  well  as  talk.  Yb?«  can  I  be  an  autocrat  in  coniiersatio7i,  any 
more  titan  you  can  in  polilics.  Other  jpeojde  have  rights^  and  they 
must  be  respected.'^ 

"  Clentleincn,"  said  Old  Blowliard,  who  appeared  uncommonly 
amused  at  the  conversation,  ''  [  have  a  theory  of  my  own ;  will 
you  allow  me  to  ])ut  in  my  oar  ?  " 

"  Sartalnly  I  "  we  both  said. 

"  Well,  then,  my  theory  is,  that  it  is  high  time  for  us  to  g.  on 
board." 

Thinks  I  to  myself,  I  was  rather  hard  on  that  chap.  I  intrud- 
ed on  Inm,  and  not  he  on  me.  1  was  his  guest,  and  lie  wasn't 
mine.  He  was  in  his  own  house,  as  it  were,  and  had  a  right  to 
lead  the  talk.  So  I  thought  I  owed  him  a  good  turn,  and  as  I 
expected  the  jobation  I  gave  him  would  make  him  ill,  I  said  : 

"  Captiii  Furlong,  I'll  give  you  my  cure  for  the  jaundice.  You 
will  make  your  fortin  out  of  it ;  and  common  as  the  article  is,  all  the 
doctors  under  heaven  will  never  find  your  secret  out."  And  I 
wrote  it  out  for  him,  tho'  it  was  a  tough  job  ;  for  as  he  leaned 
over  my  shoulder,  as  I  was  a-doin'  of  it,  his  nasty,  coarse,  stiff, 
horse-hair  sort  of  beard  tickled  me  bo,  I  thought  I  should  have 
gon?,  into  fits ;  but  I  got  through  it,  and  then  shook  hands,  and 
bid  him  good-bye. 


they 
and 


ilO 


THE    HOUSE    THAT    HOPE    ULll.T. 


CHAPTER  Xil. 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  HOPE  BUILT. 


Early  the  following  mornin',  every  vessel  in  the  fleet  got  undet 
way  with  what  is  culled  a  soldier's  wind ;  that  is,  it  was  fair  for 
those  goin'  both  east  and  west.  Captain  Love  not  only  consented 
to  his  mate  takin'  charge  of  the  '  Black  Hawk'  instead  of  the  poor 
deranged  skipper,  but  pressed  him  to  do  so,  sayin' : 

"  I  guess  I  can  find  where  the  Cape  lieSj  Matey,  without  askin' 
the  way  of  any  one.  There  aiut  much  above -common  for  you  to  do 
to  hum  just  now ;  so  go,  my  son,  and  enjoy  yourself  with  friend 
Slick.  He  aint  perhaps  quite  so  good-natured  as  I  be,  for  I  believe 
I  am  the  best-tempered  man  in  the  world,  when  they  let  rae  alone, 
and  don't  rile  mc;  but  he  is  better  informed  than  me,  and  will  spin 
you  yarns  by  the  hour,  about  the  Queen  of  England,  whose  nobles, 
they  tell  me,  eat  off  of  silver  dishes  with  gold  forks ;  and  the  Pope 
of  Rome,  where  it's  the  fashion  to  shake  hands  with  his  big  toe; 
and  the  King  of  France,  where  it  is  the  custom  to  tire  at  him  once 
a  week,  and  instead  of  hitting  him,  kill  one  of  his  guards.  Great 
shots,  them  Frenchmen !  I  don't  doubt  but  that  they  could  hit  a 
barn-door,  if  it  was  big  enough,  at  ten  yards  distance.  Slick  hat> 
been  everywhere  amost,  and  as  he  travels  with  his  eyes  open,  ha& 
seen  everythin,'.  I  don't  suppose  his  stories  are  all  just  Gospel,  bul 
they  aint  far  off  the  mark  for  all  that ;  more  like  a  chalk  sketch  of 
a  coast  made  on  the  deck,  perhaps,  than  a  printed  chart,  not  done  to 
measurement,  but  like  enough  to  steer  by.  And  then,  when  you  are 
a-shore,  if  you  want  to  see  fun,  set  him  to  rig  a  Blue-uose,  as  he  did 
old  Sarsepcrilly  Pills  yesterday,  till  he  hollered  and  called  for  mercy, 
and  it  will  make  you  split.  Come,  that's  settled  now,  sposen  we 
have  a  glass  of  grog  at  partin'.  Mr.  Slick,  here  is  your  <iood  health, 
and  t}\n  same  to  you,  Matey,  and  a  pleasant  voyage  to  you  both. 
You  will  return,  Matey,  by  the  supply  vessel,  and  its  captin  and  you 
will  change  places;  and,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  he,  ''I  forgot  to  tell  you, 
-^vcnd  Cutler  can  give  you  all  the  information  you  want  about  the 
ftsueries.  He  knows  the  history  and  habits  of  the  fish,  their  feedin' 
grounds,  and  the  mode  of  takin'  and  curin'  of  them."' 

When  we  got  into  the  boat  to  leave  the  '  ]>ald  Eagle,'  the  sailors, 
to  testify  their  regard  for  their  old  officer,  gave  three  cheers,  a  com- 
pliment that  was  returned  when  we  reached  our  vessel,  with  u  hearty 
good  will.  It  was  a  splendid  sight  to  see  this  fleet  of  thirty -six  sail 
of  fishin'-craft   that   now  got   under  way,  all  of  them    beautiful 


U  I 


I  1 


THE    HOUSE    THAT     HOPE    BUILT.    • 


111 


models,  DGcatly  and  uniformly  painted,  well-rigged,  and  cheir  white 
cotton  canvas  sails  cut,  so  as  to  lay  up  to  the  wind  like  a  board,  and 
the  whole  skimmin'  over  the  water  as  lii^ht  as  sea-,<^uild.  When  we 
consider  this  was  only  an  accidental  niw^ctin'  of  some  scattered  out- 
ward nnd  homeward  bound  vessels,  and  was  merely  a  specimen  of 
whaf  was  to  be  seen  from  this  to  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  I  actilly 
do  think,  without  any  crackin'  or  boastiu'  on  the  subject,  that  we 
have  great  reason  to  be  proud  of  our  splendid  mackerel  fleet. 

As  the  'Bald  Eagle'  left  her  anchorage,  Cutler  said,  with  a  smile: 

"  Do  you  hear,  my  dear  old  friend,  the  most  good-natured  man  ia 
the  world,  how  he  is  btormin'  ?  This  is  one  oif  the  exceptions  he 
himself  makes — he  is  rile<«  now.  Poor  old  Blowhard  !  If  you  are 
not  the  best  tempered,  as  you  so  often  boast,  you  certainly  are  the 
kindest-hearted  man  in  the  world,  and  no  one  knows  it  better  and 
appreciates  it  more  highly  than  I  do." 

In  the  meantime,  instead  of  going  with  either  portion  of  the  fleet, 
we  sailed  past  M'Nutt's  Island  into  the  entrance  of  the  magniticent 
harbour  of  Shelburu,  the  largest,  the  best,  the  safest,  and  the  most 
beautiful  on  the  whole  American  coast,  from  Labrador  to  Mexico, 
where  we  came  to  anchor.  Takiu'  two  hands  in  the  boat,  I  steered 
to  the  point  of  laud  that  forms  the  southern  entrance,  and  crossia* 
the  little  promontory,  proceeded  to  search  for  Mr.  Eldad  Nickerson, 
whom  I  intended  to  hire  as  pilot  and  assistant  to  the  coward  mate  in 
his  land  trade,  and  as  a  hand  in  the  place  of  Mr.  Enoch  Eells,  for  I 
knew  him  to  be  a  trustworthy,  intelligent,  excellent  man.  Near  the 
first  house  on  the  way,  I  met  a  smart,  active-looking  boy  of  about 
thirteen  years  of  age. 

" V/hose  house  is  that,  boy?" 

"Ouru,  Sir." 

"Who  lives  there?" 

"Feeather  Peter  Potter,  Sir." 

"  Is  he  at  hum  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Do  you  know  Mr.  Eldad  Nickerson  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Is  he  at  hum  ?" 

"Yes,  I  just  now  saw  him  cross  the  fields  to  his  house." 

"  Well,  do  you  run  after  him  us  fast  as  your  legs  can  carry  you, 
and  tell  him  that  Mr.  Slick  is  at  Squire  Peter  Potter's  a-waitiu'  for 
him." 

''  Feeather  bcant  a  squire.  Sir,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Well,  he  ought  to  be  then.  Tell  him  Mr.  Slick  wants  W  see 
him  down  to  the  squire's." 

"  I  tell  you  Peter  Potter  beant  a  squire,  Sir." 

"  And  I  tell  you  he  O'^^bt  to  be  a  squire,  then,  and  I'll  ju-^t  go 
iu  and  see  about  it." 


!  i 


n' 

ml ' 


112 


•  THE  HOUSE  THAT  HOPE  BUILT. 


"Well,  I  wish  you  would,  Sir,"  said  the  boy,  "for  some  how 
feeatber  thinks  he  aint  kind  of  been  well  used." 

"  Tell  Mr.  Nickerson,"  said  I,  "  to  come  at  once ;  and  now  run  as 
if  old  Scratch  kicked  you  on  eend,  and  when  you  come  back  I  will 
give  you  half-a-dollar." 

The  boy  darted  off  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow;  half-a-dollar  certain, 
and  the  prospect  of  a  seat  in  the  quarter  sessions  for  his  /cc'ather 
were  great  temptations;  the  critter  was  chock  full  of  hope.  Boys 
are  like  men,  and  men  are  like  boys,  and  galls  and  women  are  both 
alike,  too;  they  live  on  hope  —  false  hopes  —  hopes  without  any 
airthly  foundation  in  natur'  but  their  own  foolish  consaits.  Hope  ! 
what  is  hope  ?  expectin'  some  unsertin  thing  or  another  to  happen. 
Well,  sposen  it  don't  happen,  why  then  there  is  a  nice  little  crop  of 
disappointment  to  disgest,  that's  all.  What's  the  use  of  hopen  at 
all  then  ?  I  never  could  see  any  use  under  the  sun  in  it.  That 
word  ought  to  be  struck  out  of  every  dictionary.  I'll  tell  Webster 
so,  when  he  gets  out  a  new  edition  of  hisn.  Love  is  painted  like  a 
little  angel,  with  wings,  and  a  bow  and  arrow,  called  Cupid  —  the 
name  of  mother's  lap-dog.  Many's  the  one  I've  painted  on  clocks, 
little,  chubby-cheeked,  onmeaneii,  fat,  lubberly,  critters.  I  suppose 
it  typifies  that  love  is  a  fool.  Yes,  and  how  he  docs  fool  folks,  too  I 
Boys  and  galls  fall  in  love.  The*  boy  is  all  attention  and  devotion, 
and  the  gall  is  all  smiles,  and  airs,  and  graces,  and  pretty  little 
winniu'  ways,  and  they  bill  and  coo,  and  get  married  because  they 
hope. 

Well,  what  do  they  hope  ?  Oh,  they  hope  they  will  love  all  the 
days  of  their  lives,  and  they  hope  their  lives  will  be  ever  so  long 
just  to  love  each  other ;  its  such  a  sweet  thing  to  love.  Well,  they 
hope  a  great  deal  more  I  guess.  The  boy  hopes  arter  he's  married 
his  wife  will  smile  as  sweet  as  ever  and  twice  as  often,  and  be  just 
as  neat  and  twice  as  neater,  her  hair  lookin'  like  part  of  the  head, 
so  tight,  and  bright,  and  glossy,  and  parted  on  the  top  like  a  little 
path  in  the  forest.  A  path  is  a  sweet  little  thing,  for  it  seems  made 
a  purpose  for  courtin',  it  is  so  lonely  and  retired.  Natur  teaches  its 
use,  he  says,  for  the  breeze  as  it  whispers  kisses  the  leaves,  and  helps 
the  flowering  shrubs  to  bend  down  and  kiss  the  clear  little  stream 
that  waits  in  an  eddy  for  it  afore  it  moves  on. 

Poor  fellow,  he  aint  spoony  at  all.  Is  he?  And  he  hopes  that 
ncr  temper  will  be  as  gentle  and  as  meek  and  as  mild  as  ever;  in 
fact,  no  temper  at  all — all  amiability — an  angel  in  petticoats.  Well, 
she  hopes  every  minute  he  has  to  spare  he  will  fly  to  her  on  the 
wings  of  love  —  legs  aint  fast  enough,  and  runnin  might  hurt  his 
lungs,  buty/y  to  her — and  never  leave  her,  but  bill  and  coo  for  ever, 
Hud  will  let  her  will  be  /r/.s  law;  sartaiuly  wont  want  her  to  wait  on 
nim,  but  for  him  to  tend  on  her,  the  devoted  critter  like  a  heavenlj? 
ministering  white  he-nigger. 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  HOPE  BUILT. 


113 


;i' 


that 

;  m 

Well, 

n  tlio 

t  his 

ever, 


Well,  don't  they  hope  they  may  get  all  this? 

And  do  they  ?  Jist  go  into  any  house  you  like,  and  the  last  two 
that  talks  is  these  has  been  lovers.  They  have  said  their  say,  and 
are  tired  talking ;  they  have  kissed  their  kiss,  and  an  onion  has  spiled 
it ;  they  have  strolled  their  stroll,  for  the  dew  is  on  the  grass  all  day 
now.  His  dress  is  ontidy,  and  he  smokes  a  short  black  pipe,  (he 
didn't  even  smoke  a  cigar  before  he  was  married),  and  the  ashes  get 
on  his  waistcoat ;  but  who  cares  ?  it's  only  his  wife  to  see  it — and  ho 
kinder  guesses  he  sees  wrinkles,  where  he  never  saw  'em  afore,  on 
her  stocking  ancles  j  and  her  shoes  are  a  little,  just  a  little,  down  to 
heel ;  and  she  comes  down  to  breakfast,  with  her  hair  and  dress 
lookin'  as  if  it  was  a  little  more  neater,  it  would  be  a  little  more 
better. 

He  sits  up  late  with  old  friends,  and  he  lets  her  go  to  bed  alone  j 
and  she  cries,  the  little  angel !  but  it's  only  because  she  has  a  head- 
ache. The  heart  —  oh!  there's  nothing  wrong  there — but  she  is 
lately  troubled  with  shockin'  bad  nervous  headache^',  and  can't  think 
what  in  the  world  is  the  cause.  The  dashing  young  gentleman  hap 
got  awful  stingy  too,  lately.  He  sais  housekeepin'  costs  too  much, 
rips  out  an  ugly  word  every  now  and  then,  she  never  heerd  afore  j 
but  she  hopes  —  what  does  the  poor  dupe  hope  ?  Why,  she  hopes 
he  aint  swcariu ;  but  it  sounds  amazin'  like  it — that's  a  fact.  What 
is  that  ugly  word  "dam,"  that  he  uses  so  often  lately?  and  she 
looks  it  out  in  the  dictionary,  and  she  finds  "dam"  means  the 
'*  mother  of  a  colt."  Well,  she  hopes  to  be  a  mother  herself,  some 
day,  poor  critter !  So  her  hope  has  ended  in  her  findiu'  a  mare's 
nest  at  last. 

More  things  than  that  puzzle  her  poor  little  head.  What  does  he 
see  to  be  for  everlastinly  a  praisin'  that  ugly  virago  of  a  woman, 
Mrs.  Glass  —  callin'  her  such  an  excellent  housekeeper  and  capital 
manager;  and  when  asked  if  she  understands  music,  sayin'  she 
knows  somethin*  much  better  than  that. 

"What,  dear?" 

"  Oh  !  never  mind." 

"But  I  insist;"  (^insist  is  the  first  strong  word :  take  care,  you 
little  dear,  or  it  will  soon  be  one  of  the  weakest.  Mind  your  stops, 
dear;  it  sends  a  husband  ofi"  like  a  hair-trigger  gun);  "but  I 
insist." 

"What,  insist!     Well,  come,  I  like  that  amazingly." 

"I  mean  I  should  like  to  know,  dear;"  (Ah!  that's  right,  my 
sweet  friend,  for  I  do  love  the  little  critters ;  for  it's  bad  trainin'  and 
bad  handlin'  arterwards,  by  bad  masters,  that  so  often  spiles  them. 
That's  right ;  lower  your  tone,  dear ;  you'll  have  occasion  to  raise  it 
high  enough,  some  of  these  days,  perhaps) ;  "  I  should  like  to  know, 
dear,  what  she  knows  better  than  that  ?  You  used  to  say  you  was 
80  fond  of  music,  and  stan^  by  the  piano,  and  turn  over  the  leaves  3 


iii 

In 

I 


1  :  I 


114 


THE    HOUSE     THAT    HOPE     BUILT. 


and  be  so  angry  if  anybody  talked  when  I  sang,  and  said  I  could 
have  made  a  fortin  on  tlie  stage.  Tell  me  what  she  knows  better, 
dear  ?  Is  it  painting?  You  used  to  be  so  fond  and  so  proud  of  my 
painting.     Tell  mo,  dear,  what  does  she  know  better?" 

That  little  touchin'  and  nateral  appeal  about  the  music  and 
paintin'  saved  her  that  time.  She  got  put  oft'  with  a  kiss,  which 
she  didn't  hardly  hope  for,  and  that  made  it  doubly  sweet.  What 
people  hoj^e  for,  they  think  at  last  they  have  a  rujht  to,  and  when 
they  are  disappointed,  they  actiUy  think  they  are  ill-used  j  but  un- 
expected luck  makes  the  heart  dance,  and  it  saved  her  from  hearin* 
what  she  did  arterwards,  for  the  unfeelin'  rascal  was  agoin  to  tell  hor 
that  what  Mrs.  Glass  knew,  that  was  better,  was  how  to  make  a 
puddin'.  Well,  the  child  hope  painted  was  to  be  a  blessin',  not  a 
little  angel,  that  aint  good  enough ;  but  a  cherubim  or  seraphim  at 
least.  Well,  it  did  resemble  them  in  one  respect,  for  ''  they  con- 
tinually do  cry."  What  a  torment  it  was  !  Teethin',  hoopin'-cough, 
measles,  scarlatina,  the  hives,  the  snufiles,  the  croup,  the  influenza^ 
and  the  Lord  knows  what,  all  came  to  pay  their  respects  to  it.  Just 
as  fast  as  one  plague  of  Egypt  went,  another  came. 

Well,  if  the  nursery  told  'em  how  foolish  it  was  to  hope,  the 
world  told  'em  in  rougher  language  the  same  thing  at  a  time  when 
the  temper  was  too  sour  to  bear  it.  The  pretty  boys,  what  are  they  ? 
Pretty  birds !  Enough  to  break  their  parents'  hearts,  if  they  was 
as  hard  as  flints.  i\.ud  their  galls,  their  sweet  galls,  that  had  nur- 
sery-governesses, aud  fashionable  boardcn-schools,  and  music  masters, 
and  French  masters,  aud  i^^etalian  masters,  aud  German  masters 
(for  German  is  worth  both  French  and  EyeiaWan  put  together;  it 
will  take  you  from  Antwerp  to  Russia,  and  from  the  Mediterranean 
to  the  Baltic),  and  every  other  master,  and  mistress,  and  professor, 
and  lecturer  worth  havin' ;  and  have  been  brought  out  into  company 
according  to  rule  —  (I  never  liked  that  regular-built  bringin'  out  of 
galls  J  its  too  business-like,  too  much  like  showiu'  r,  filly's  paces  at 
a  fair,  like  hangin'  a  piece  of  goods  out  of  the  window — if  you  fancy 
the  article,  and  will  give  the  price,  1  guess  it's  likely  we'll  come  to 
tarms,  for  she  is  on  hand,  and  to  be  disposed  of) — well,  arter  all  this 
hope  of  dear  Minna,  and  Brenda,  and  Ulla,  and  Nina :  what  did 
hope  do,  the  villain  ?  Why  he  looked  into  the  drawin'-room,  where 
they  were  all  ready  to  receive  company,  with  mamma  (that  dear 
little  mamma,  that  it  seems  as  if  she  was  only  married  the  other 
day,  so  slight,  so  sweet,  so  fuiry-like,  and  so  handsome.  I  don't 
wonder  "  liubby,"  as  she  called  her  husband,  fell  in  love  with  her; 
but  now  a  great,  fat,  coarse,  blowsy,  cross  woman,  that  I  wouldn't 
swear  didn't  paint,  and,  don't  mention  it  —  yes!  drink  her  Cologne 
water  too).  Well,  hope  peeped  in  at  the  winder,  aud  looked  at 
those  accomplished  young  ladies,  with  beautiful  foreign  and  romantic 
ujimcs,  and  scrcumijd  like  a  loon  at  the  sight  of  a  gun.     He  vowed 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  HOPE  BUILT, 


115 


ancy 
me  to 
this 
did 
vhere 
dear 
other 
don't 
her; 
Idn't 


they  nearly  scared  him  to  death  ;  for  they  were  as  ugly  as  old  Satan's 
eldest  daughter,  her  they  call  Deadly  Nightshade. 

Hope  is  a  slippery  gentleman,  and  has  cheated  more  fools  than 
ever  love  did,  for  many  people  pretend  to  love  that  don't.  Many  a 
feller,  while  he  was  a  kissen  of  a  gall,  and  had  one  arm  round  her 
waist,  slipped  the  other  into  her  pockets  to  feel  what  was  there,  and 
many  a  woman  has  inquired  (no  that  aint  fair,  I  swow,  I  won't  say 
that,  I  ought  to  be  kicked  if  I  did) ;  but  there  is  many  a  gall  whose 
friends  inquire,  not  into  a  man's  character,  but  into  his  balance  at 
bis  banker's,  and  if  that  aint  good,  into  his  family  interest,  for 
"  friends  are  better  than  money,"  and  fish  that  won't  take  a  worm, 
will  jump  clean  stark  naked  out  of  the  water  at  red  hackle. 

But  love  is  neither  here  nor  there  j  the  rael  neat  article,  like  rael 
best  Varginy  backey,  is  a  scarce  thing ;  it's  either  very  coarse,  or  a 
counterfeit,  something  you  wouldn't  totfch  with  a  pair  of  tongs,  or 
something  that  is  all  varnish,  venear,  and  glue.  The  moment  it  is 
heated  it  warps,  and  then  falls  to  pieces.  Love  is  a  pickpocket  — 
hope  is  a  forger.  Love  robs  a  gall  and  desarts  her,  and  the  sooner 
she  is  rid  of  him  the  better,  for  she  is  young,  and  the  world  is  l?ft 
to  her,  at  any  rate.  Hope  coaxes  her  to  hoard  up  for  the  future, 
and  she  listens  to  the  villain,  and  places  her  happiness  in  years  to 
come  J  and  when  that  long  future  arrives  (a  pretty  short  story  arter 
all,  for  it  so  soon  comes),  and  she  goes  to  draw  on  this  accumulated 
fund,  the  devil  a  cent  is  there ;  hope  has  dravvd  it  all  out,  and  gone 
to  California. 

Love  and  hope  are  both  rascals.  I  don't  pity  any  folks  that  is 
cheated  by  hope,  it  sarves  them  right,  for  all  natur'  is  agin  hope. 
'^  Good  and  evil  seldom  come  where  theij  are  expected,"  We  hante 
no  right  to  rely  on  anybody  but  on  Providence  and  ourselves. 
Middle  men,  or  agents  in  a  general  way,  are  evil  spirits,  but  hope  is 
the  devil. 

I  do  pity  a  feminine  tho',  that  is  cheated  by  love,  for  by  listenin' 
to  the  iusinivations  of  the  accomplished  rascal,  she  don't  know  that 
the  voice  of  natur'  is  in  his  favour,  tho'  he  does.  But  I  don't  pity 
a  he  crittur  at  all.  His  strength,  vanity,  and  want  of  principle,  will 
carry  him  through  an^t^m'.  The  spnr  icoii't  Jnirt  icherc  the  hide  is 
thich.  I  don't  go  agin  love,  it's  only  Cupid's  love,  boy  love,  calf 
love,  and  Cupid  ought  to  be  sarved  like  a  calf.  With  us  we  veal  a 
calf  at  four  weeks,  in  England  they  keep  him  three  months;  but 
Cupid,  like  the  calves,  ought  to  have  his  throat  cut  at  one  age  or  the 
other. 

Man's  love  and  woman's  love  is  a  sensible  thing,  aud  a  natural 
thing,  and  1  approbate  it,  provided  it  is  founded  on — but  I  aint  a 
guin'  to  preach.  Lay  and  night  are  given  to  v/ork,  to  glorify,  to  jol- 
lify, and  sleep.  What  right  have  we  to  take  this  day's  happiness, 
bottle  it  up,  and  pnt  it  away  for  ten  years,  and  say,  ''  We  will  then 


V.' 


I 


Hi 


J 16 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  HOPE  BUILT. 


have  a  splondiferous  spree,  uncork  it,  and  get  riproarious  with  delight  ? 
Take  your  daily  bread,  and  bo  thankful;  hut  don't  pray  to  the  Lord 
to  lay  up  for  you  tlio  loaves  for  years  to  come  to  make  you  rich. 
Many  a  man  Juts  died  about  the  time  his  great  haldn<j  of  hread 
came  out  of  his  oven. 

Love,  like  the  small-pox,  comes  in  the  natcral  way,  and  you  can't 
help  it;  but  hope  is  different;  all  experience  is  agin  it;  and  yet, 
like  sin,  every  one  indulges  in  it,  privately  or  publicly.  Look  at 
that  boy,  now ;  he  hopes  I  am  goin'  to  make  his  father  a  squire  or 
justice  of  the  peace.  I  haven't  the  power,  and  don't  know  as  I 
would  if  I  could.  But  tarnation  !  I  never  said  I  would.  All  I  did 
«ay  was,  he  ought  to  be.^  Well,  so  he  ought,  if  he  was  worth  a  far- 
thin'.  On  that  little  compliment  he  has  framed,  raised,  boarded  in 
ftnd  shingled  iip  a  considerable  buildin'  of  hope.  And  don't  every- 
body do  the  same  ?  Why  to  be  sure  they  do.  "  When  my  Uncle 
Sam  dies,"  sais  my  nephew,  Sam  Munroe,  "  I  shall  get  all  his  money." 

He  is  quite  sure  of  it;  his  hope  is  so  strong,  and  so  is  his 
mother's  and  father's  too.  They  all  hope  as  hard  as  they  can.  Well, 
I  intend  to  marry  soon,  and  I  guess  I  don't  hope,  for  /  aint  such  a 
fool ;  but  I  guess  I  may  have  a  little  Sam  Slick  of  my  own,  and 
then  where  is  all  their  hopes  ?  Gone  to  the  four  winds  and  all  their 
pints,  includin'  0//yandor  the  black  cook's  favourite  one — west  and 
by  east,  half  south.  Then  new  hopes  spring  up;  Uncle  Sam  will 
get  mo  a  situation  under  government,  for  he  knows  everybody  amost. 
And  Uncle  Sam  guesses  he  may;  but  as  it  don't  depend  on  him 
altogether,  and  it  is  as  like  as  not  he  might  fail,  all  he  sais  is  he'll 
try;  but  in  the  meantime,  don't  depend  on  it;  work  as  if  you  never 
thought  of  it.  You  can't  live  on  hope,  and  hope  deferred  makes 
the  heart  sick. 

Well,  the  critter  don't  look  pleased  at  that  answer — that  sensible 
answer — that  answer  that  is  accordin'  to  the  natur  of  things  and  the 
working  of  Providence,  and  he  is  huffy,  slams  his  hat  on,  sticks  his 
lips  out  and  bangs  the  door  arter  him  as  he  struts  off,  and  his  fathei 
is  sulky,  and  his  mother  looks  down  in  the  mouth.  They  hoped 
better  things  of  Uncle  Sam.  lie  ain't  got  no  nateral  affection;  he 
has  travelled  about  the  world  so  much,  he  don't  care  for  no  one  now. 
Single  men  get  selfish ;  but.  they  still  hojye,  because  they  intend  to 
teaze  me  into  it.  So  they  at  it  again.  They  ho2'>e  to  wheedle  me 
too,  if  teazin'  won't  answer. 

"  Oh,  Sam  !"  says  sister  Sail,  and  railly  there  is  no  restin'  of  her 
wbon  she  gets  at  you,  she  has  such  winnin'  ways  about  her,  and 
smiles  so  Fweet,  and  looks  to  my  mind  handsomer  than  when  she  was 
.gall.  Well,  she  watches  her  chance — for  hope  keeps  her  wide 
i.wake — and  when  she  sees  me  dressed  up  for  a  party,  in  my  best 
London  and  Paris  dress,  she  takes  hold  of  my  whisker,  and  gives  it 
%  little  better  curl  and  set  with  her  finger.     "  Sam,"  sais  she,  "  how 


THE    HOUSE     THAT     HOPE    BUILT. 


117 


now. 

Ind  to 

me 

her 
and 
was 

Iwide 
best 

hs  it 
how 


well  you  do  look !     I  wouldn't  go  out  to  thi3  party,  only  I  feel  so 

{>roud  of  9/011,  and  I  do  like  to  see  folks  look  up  to  you  so.  Your 
ast  visit  to  Europe  did  a  great  deal  for  you;  it  improved  you  so 
much." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  sais  I 

"  Think  !"  sias  she,  a  tossin'  up  of  her  pretty  little  head,  and  a  sha- 
kin'  of  her  beautiful  ringlets,  and  a  kissin'  of  me.  "  I  don't  think 
about  it  at  all,  I  know  it,  and  it's  generally  allowed  to  be  so,  it  haa 
made  you  quite  a  man  of  the  world,  it  has  rubbed  qff  all  rusticity, 
or  what  Cooper  calls  provincial  look." 

"  Oh  !  ho !"  sais  I  to  myself,  ^'  I  see  how  the  cat  jumps,  there  ia 
n  gold  chain,  or  a  bracelet,  or  a  cameo,  or  somethin'  or  another 
wanted.  Well  I'll  play  her  oflF  a  little  while  and  she  shall  have  it, 
the  dear  little  critter,  and  welcome.  Oh  !  Lord,  a  man  of  the  world  ! 
"Sally,"  sais  I,  "Sally,"  pretending  to  Took  all  taken  aback,  "I  am 
Borry  to  hear  that." 

"  Why,  dear  ?"  sais  she. 

"  Because,  Sally,  a  man  of  the  world  has  no  heart,  and  I  begin 
to  think  mine  aiut  so  big  or  soft  as  it  used  to  be." 

"  How  iiiu  you  say  so,  Sam  ?"  sais  she,  and  then  comes  another 
kiss. 

"  Better  so,  Sally  dear,"  sais  I,  "  If  I  was  as  soft  as  I  ouct  was, 
when  I  was  always  in  love  with  every  gall  I  romped  with,  (and  I 
never  see  one  that  I  didn't  make  right  after),  perhaps,  I'd  go  strait 
off',  marry  in  haste  and  repent  at  leisure." 

Well,  that  word  marry  always  set  her  a  swollerin'  her  breath,  a3 
folks  do  to  keep  down  the  hickups.  Sally  railly  does  love  me,  and 
no  mistake ;  but  somehow  or  somehow  else,  it  strikes  me  it  would 
take  her  a  good  while  to  like  my  wife  (though  she  will  have  to  try 
oome  day),  for  that  would  knock  her  hopes  all  to  squash. 

"  Marry  !"  said  she ;  "  why  I'm  sure  there  aint  any  one  half  good 
enough  for  you  here,  Sam,  so  you  needn't  be  afeard  of  fallin'  in  love 
to-night;  but  I  wasn't  thinkin'  of  the  galls,"  said  she,  a-colorin'  up 
out  of  consciousness.     "I  was  thinkin'  of  the  men." 

Some  how  or  another,  natur  don't  seem  to  approbate  anything 
that  aint  the  clear  grit.  The  moment  a  lady  goes  to  conceal  an  arti- 
fice, if,  instead  of  hiding  it  with  her  petticoats,  she  covers  it  with 
blushes,  "  Guilty  !"  sais  you  at  once.  "  There  is  the  marks  of  blood 
in  your  face." 

"So  you  warn't  thinkin'  of  the  galls,  eh,  Sally?  How  like  a 
woman  that  was  !" 

"Sam,"  sais  she,  a-colorin'  up  again  most  beautiful,  "c(o  behave 
yourself  I  thought  you  was  improved,  but  now  I  don't  see  you  are 
a  bit  altered.  But,  as  I  was  sayin',  the  men  all  look  up  so  to  you. 
They  respect  you  so  much,  and  arc  kind  of  proud  of  you — they'd  do 
anything  for  you.     Now,  Amos  Kendle  is  to  be  there  to-night,  one 


It 
'ft' 


i: 


11! 


H 


:'   I 


I  : 


'1  \ 


118 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  HOPE  BUILT 


of  the  Secretaries  of  State.  Couldn't  you  speak  to  him  about  Sam  ? 
He'd  provide  for  him  in  a  minute.  It's  amost  a  L'rand  chance ;  a 
word  from  you  would  do  the  business  at  onct — he  won't  refuse  ijou." 

Well,  it  aint  easy  to  say  no  to  a  woman,  especially  if  that  woman  is 
a  sister,  and  you  love  that  sister  as  I  do  Sally.  But  sometimes  they 
must  listen  to  reason  (though  hope  don't  know  such  a  tarm  as  that), 
and  hear  sense  (though  hope  says  that's  heathen  Greek)  so,  I  have 
to  let  her  down  easy. 

"  Sally  dear,"  sais  I,  a-takin'  of  her  hand,  "  Amos  is  a  democrat, 
and  I  am  a  Whig,  and  they  mix  about  as  easy  as  ile  and  water  j  and 
the  democrats  are  at  the  top  of  the  ladder  now;  and  in  this  great 
nation  each  party  takes  all  the  patronage  for  its  own  side.  It's  a 
thing  just  onpossible,  dear.  Wait  until  the  Whigs  come  in,  and 
then  I'll  see  what  I  can  do.  But,  Sally,  I  don't  approbate  ojlces 
for  yc^mff  men.  Let  them  aim  their  own  grub,  and  not  eat  the 
bread  of  the  State.  It  aint  half  so  sweet,  nor  half  so  much  to  be 
depended  on.  Poor  Sally  \"  thinks  I,  "  hop  will  be  the  death  of 
you  yet,"  for  she  said,  in  a  faint  voice  : 

"  Well,  Sam,  you  know  best.  I  trust  all  to  you ;  my  hope  is  in 
you,"  and  she  sot  down,  and  looked  awful  pale,  held  a  smellin'-bottle 
to  her  nose,  and  I  thought  she  would  have  fainted. 

Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  one  fine  day  in  flies  Sally  to  my 
room,  all  life,  animation  and  joy. 

"  Oh  !  Sam,"  sais  she,  "  1  have  groat  news  for  you  ?" 

"  Has  the  blood-mare  got  a  colt  ?"  sais  I. 

"  Ho  !"  sais  she ;  "  how  stupid  you  are  !" 

"  Has  the  Berkshire  pig  arrived  from  England  ?" 

I  knew  in  course  what  was  comin',  but  I  just  did  it  to  tease  her. 

"No,  Sam,"  said  she,  a-throwin'  her  arms  round  my  neck, 
a-laughin',  kissin',  and  cryin',  half-distracted  all  at  the  same  time, 
"  no,  Sam,  the  Whigs  have  carried  their  man  for  President.  Now's 
the  time  for  Sam  !  you'll  get  an  office  for  him  ;  won't  you,  dear?" 

"  I'll  try,  dear.  Pack  up  my  things,  and  I'll  start  for  Washington 
to-night ;  but,  Sally,  dear,  some  how  I  don't  think  I  can  do  much 
for  Sam ;  he  aint  known  in  politics,  and  its  party  men,  active  men, 
and  influential  men  that  gets  places.  I  might  obtain  a  foreign 
appointment  for  myself,  if  I  wanted  it." 

"  Oh !  of  course  you  could  if  you  wanted  it,"  she  replied,  "  for 
you'd  try  then." 

There  is  no  kcepin'  off  a  woman ;  if  coaxin'  won't  do,  they  give 
you  a  sly  touch  on  the  raw;  but  I  takes  tliat  poke,  and  goes  on. 

"Because  they  aint  always  confined  to  party;  but  as  for  a  boy 
like  Sam,  I  don't  know,  but  I'll  try." 

Well,  what,  sais  President,  "  Collector  of  Customs  at  Now  Port, 
Rhode  Island  ?     Why  Mr.  Slick,  it's  worth  three  thousand  a-year. 

"  Exactly ;  that's?  the  reason  why  I  asked  for  it." 


>» 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  HOPE  BUILT. 


Ill) 


"It's  onpossible,  Sir." 

"  Well,  Cape  Cod  ?  Let  me  see  two  thousand  five  hundred  dol- 
lars." 

"  Too  large,  Sir,  the  party  will  never  consent  to  it  for  an  unknown 
boy;  and  even  you,  Mr.  Slick,  though  one  of  us,  don't  mix  in  poli- 
tics; but  stop,  I'll  see  what  I  can  do,"  and  he  turns  over  a  large  book 
of  places,  names,  and  salaries ;  at  last  he  sais :  "  Here's  a  vacancy 
that  nobody  has  asked  for.  I'll  make  him  United  States'  Consul  for 
Turks  Island,  in  the  West  Indies ;  it's  worth  three  thousand  dollars 
a-year,  if  he  don't  object  to  the  yaller-fevcr,"  he  said,  laughin',  "  the 
ophthalmia,  the  absence  of  whites,  and  the  presence  of  the  many 
blacks,  and  can  do  without  fresh  provisions ;  it's  a  good  office,  for  I 
defy  him  to  spend  his  income,  and  he  may  add  to  it  by  trade.  I  am 
sorry  I  have  nothin'  better  to  offer  him ;  but  if  you,  Mr.  Slick,  would 
like  a  diplomatic  station,  I  shall  be  happy  to  nominate  you  to  the 
Senate  for  other  considerations  weigh  there  as  well  as  party.  Wash- 
ington Irving  goes  to  Spain,  which  he  has  illustrated.  You  are 
favourably  known  as  attache  to  our  embassy  to  St.  Jimes' ;  if  you 
would  like  any  part  of  the  Mediterranean,  or  the  north  of  Europe, 
why—" 

"  Thank  you.  Sir,"  sais  I,  "  \  prefer  private  to  public  life,  and 
will  let  you  know  the  young  gentleman's  determination  as  soon  as  I 
return." 

When  I  came  home,  Sally  didn't  cry  :  oh  !  of  course  not,  women  don't 
know  how,  when  she  saw  all  her  hopes  broken  to  pieces,  like  a  flower- 
pot that  falls  off  a  stand,  leavin'  nothin'  but  dirt,  broken  crockery, 
and  squashed  roses  on  the  carpet.  And  Sam  didn't  stalk  about  the 
room,  and  hold  up  his  head  straight  like  a  crane  that's  half  choked 
swallowin'  a  great  bull  frog,  and  talk  nonsense,  and  threaten  to  lick 
the  President  if  ever  he  caught  him  to  Slickville.  Oh  no !  boys 
never  do  that ;  and  they  didn't  coax  and  persuade  me  to  talfe  a  foreign 
mission,  on  purpose  to  have  Sam  as  attachS.  Oh  no  !  of  course  not ; 
that  would  have  looked  selfish,  and  askin'  too  much  of  Uncle.  I 
wonder  if  there  is  such  a  thing  as  asking  too  much  of  an  uncle. 
Thinks  I,  when  the  Lord  don't  send  children,  the  devil  sends 
nephews  and  nieces.  Well,  hope,  like  an  alder-bush  near  a  ditch  in 
the  d'ko,  as  soon  as  it  is  cut  down  springs  right  up  again,  and  puta 
forth  five  or  six  stems  instead  of  one.  There  is  a  new  hope  for  Sam, 
who  railly  is  a  handsome  feller,  and  if  he  was  a  little  taller  would  be 
most  as  handsome  as  his  Uncle. 

" Well,  what  is  it,  Sally?" 

"Why,  I  think  he  will  marry  Miss  Crowningshield,  the  great 
heiress.  Her  father  made  a  million  dolhirs  in  ile,  and  left  it  all  to 
her.  Oh  !  I  hope  to  goodness  he  will  take  my  advice.  She  is  very 
fond  of  him,  and  meets  him  more  than  half  way.  Wouldn't  thct 
be  grand,  Sam?" 


120 


THE  HOUSE  WITHOUT  HOPE. 


Vf 


Well,  I  didn't  say  a  word. 

"  8.;ini,  why  don't  you  speak  ?     Why  Sam,  what  ails  you  ?* 

"Sally  dt-'ur,"  sai.s  I,  '^  tako  care.  Thi.s  fortin  coiuinoiiced  in  ilc, 
und  will  ecnd  in  bluhber,  us  sure  as  the  world,  soo  if  it  ditn't." 

^\''('ll,  it  did  ;  either  lie  didn't  go  the  right  way  to  work,  or  she 
jilted  him ;  hut  thoy  didn't  hiteh  horses  together.  Sail  took  to  hor 
bed,  and  nearly  cried  her  eyes  out,  and  Sam  look  to  a  likely  young 
heifer,  that  had  just  money  enough  to  pay  their  passage,  and  spli(;ed 
and  set  off  to  California.  He  will  do  better  now  ho  is  away  from 
his  mother,  if  he  works  like  a  nigger  day  and  night,  aint  afraid  of 
hot  suns  and  cold  rivers,  has  good  luvk  in  diggia',  and  don't  get 
robbed,  burnt  out,  or  murdered. 

Hope  will  bo  the  death  of  poor  Sally  yet.  She  goes  it  as  strong 
as  ever,  now,  on  Joshua  Hopewell  Muuroc,  the  second  boy;  and  if 
they  would  only  let  hopiu'  alone,  I  make  no  doubt  but  he'd  do. 
*'  No,  no !"  as  I  said  to  my  nephew,  when  he  went  to  the  Pacific, 
''hope  ought  to  be  struck  out  of  the  dictionary.  Do  your  dufi/, 
Sam,  and  trufft  to  Providence  ;  have  no  liope  and  no  fear  ;  re<jord 
the  jimcnl  and  not  ihe  future,  except  that  future  beyond  the  grave, 
and  for  tJiot  the  v:ord  u  faith." 

Squire,  wliat  effect  do  you  think  that  had  on  him?  and  this  I  will 
say,  though  I  say  it  that  shouldn't  say  it,  it's  good  advice.  Why 
the  hopeful  3'outh  just  winked  to  his  wife,  as  much  as  to  say.  How 
wise  he  is,  aint  he  ?  "  Exactly,  uncle,"  sais  lie ;  "  we  shall  have  as 
happy  a  life  of  it  as  the  jolly  old  pair  in  the  song  had,  who 

"  '  Nor  hoped,  nor  feared,  nor  laughed,  nor  cried, 
And  so  they  lived,  and  so  they  died.' 

Good  bye,  uncle;"  and  after  they  got  out  into  the  entry,  I  could 
hear  them  laugh  like  anything  at  it.  Poor  boy  !  he  is  the  wrack  of 
a  house  that  hope  built. 


f 


CHAPTER  XIII, 


THE   HOUSE  WITHOUT   HOPE. 


-Ti  •  I 


While  the  boy  was  goin'  for  Eldad  Nickerson,  I  walked  into  the 
house  of  3Ir.  Peter  Potter,  the  door  of  which  stood  invitinly  or 
sarelessly  open,  and  wont  to  the  fire,  where  Peter  sat  smokin'  a  pipe. 
He  was  about  as  cross-grained,  morose,  ongainly,  forbiddin'  a  lookiu' 
man  as  ever  I  sot  eyes  on.  He  was  tilted  back  on  his  chair,  which 
he  balanced  with  the  toes  of  his  boots.  He  wore  his  hat,  to  t-ave 
the  trouble  of  taking  it  on  or  oft';  and  a  month's  beard,  to  save  the 
trouble  of  shavin'.     He  neither  got  up,  nor  looked  up,  nor  spoke  j 


il 


THE    HOUSE    WITHOUT    HOPE 


121 


travc. 


t 


but  sceraod  listenHig  to  a  green  stick  of  wood,  that  was  what  ig 
?allod  singing  or  hissing,  as  the  heat  of  the  fire  drove  out  tho  sap. 
Poverty,  despair,  and  dogged  bad  temper,  v/ns  stamped  on  his  face 
in  big  print,  1  guess  he  had  got  out  of  bed  tho  wrobg  way  that 
inornin'. 

Evcrytiiing  depends  on  how  a  man  gets  up.  It's  a  great  fccrct, 
that.  If  it  is  done  wrong  log  foremost,  or  wrong  cend  fust,  you  aro 
wrong  all  day,  cross  as  old  scratch ;  and  the  wisest  thing  is  to  givo 
you  a  wide  Ijcrth,  Icst  you  should  fly  off  the  handle.  And  if  tho 
right  leg,  or  the  right  side,  or  right  eond,  as  tho  case  may  be,  comes 
up  as  it  ought,  why  then  you'll  do  pretty  well  that  day,  like  Old 
Blowhard,  if  they  don't  rile  you.  But  t'other  way,  is  like  the  sun 
risin',  and  goin'  into  a  cloud  right  olfj  it's  a  sure  sign  of  a  storm,  or 
a  juicy  day. 

Peter  had  got  up  wrong,  or  never  turned  in  right,  or  didn't  know 
the  dodge  of  gettin'  out  of  bed  properly.  The  apartment  in  which 
he  sat  was  both  a  kitchen,  and  common  sitting-room.  It  was  clean, 
bat  scantily  and  wretchedly  furnished.  lOverythin'  betokened  great 
poverty.  Much  of  the  glass  of  the  windows  was  broken,  and  its 
place  supplied  by  shingles,  and  what  was  left  was  patched  with  tho 
iVaiiincnts  of  those  that  had  been  shattered.  The  dresser  contained 
out  few  articles  of  crockery,  and  those  of  the  commonest  kind,  of 
different  patterns,  and  of  indispensable  use.  A  common  deal  table, 
a  bench,  and  three  or  four  rickotty  chairs,  with  two  round  pieces  of 
birch,  apparently  sawed  from  a  log  of  fire-wood,  for  seats,  that  stood 
on  each  side  of  the  chimney,  was  all  that  tho  room  contained. 

Onlikc  other  houses  of  the  same  kind,  belongin'  to  people  of  his 
class,  which  are  generally  comfortable,  and  bear  some  marks  of  thrift 
and  good  cheer,  this  exhibited  nothin'  to  feed  or  work  upon.  No 
hams  hung  temptin'  from  tho  rafters.  No  hanks  of  yarn  kivcred 
the  walls,  and  no  spinnin'-wheel  showed  a  partnership  with  sheep. 
High  up,  within  the  "irge  open  fire-place,  and  on  either  side  of  the 
jams,  were  two  hara-wood  rods,  that  severally  supported  about  a 
dozen  gaspereaux,  or  alowives,  that  were  undergoin'  the  process  of 
smokin' ;  while  in  one  corner  of  the  room  stood  a  diminutive  scoop- 
net,  by  tho  aid  of  which  the  eldest  boy,  apparently,  had  provided 
this  scanty  supply  of  tYod  for  the  family.  A  heavy,  old-fashiened 
musket  was  slung  between  the  windows,  and  was  probably  the 
travellin'  companion  of  :t3  owner,  for  the  special  benefit  of  consta- 
bles a!id  wild-fowl,  bcti-  of  which  are  naturally  shy  in  a  place  so 
much  frequented  by  sailors. 

It  was  a  scene  not  easily  forgotten,  especially  in  a  country  like 
Nova  Scotia,  where  common  industry  supplies  in  abundance  all  the 
ordinary  wants  of  a  family.  Proceedin'  to  the  fire-place,  I  addressed 
the  immoveable  and  silent  owner. 

"  Mornia',"  sais  I,  "  friend.     By  your  leave  I'll  light  a  cigar  by 


\ 


'S   |i;,| 


.IJ 


122 


THE     H  0  U  S  K     WITHOUT     HOPE 


?•»    ■ 


fl.li 


• 


M 


voiir  fire."  And  suitin'  tlic  nction  to  tlic  -word,  1  took  up  a  coal, 
blowcd  it,  nnd  lit  ono. 

'•  That's  right,"  said  ho,  "  liidp  yourself  fiiKt,  and  thou  ask  leavo," 

"  Peter,  ain't  you  ashamed  ?  "  said  his  wife,  who  stood  near  the 
drossfM',  apparently  desirous  of  escaping  observation. 

"No,  1  ain't." 

•*  AVell,  then,  you  ought  to  be." 

•'  Friend,"  sais  I  (for  if  I  Mow  a  coal,  I  never  blow  up  conten- 
tion,' "friend,''  sais  I,  (and  I  took  no  notice  of  what  he  said,  for 
I  was  determined  to  make  him  talk  in  spite  of  himself  I  never 
see  the  man  yet,  where  I  had  a  chance,  that  I  couldn't  draw  him 
out,  as  easy  as  nail-rod  iron),  "  friend,"  sais  I,  "will  you  try  a 
cigar  ?  it's  a  first  chop  article." 

"  No  ;    1  don't  smoke  them,"  he  said  ;   "  I  can't  afford  them." 

*'  Well,  here  is  a  tig  of  best  Varginny  tobacky.  You  don't  often 
see  the  liUe  in  these  digglns  :  take  that." 

He  lield  his  hand  out  without  speakin'  a  word,  half-ashamed  to 
refuse,  au<l  hall'-unwiliin'  to  accept  it,  and  I  dropt  it  in. 

"  And  now,"  sais  I,  "  friend  1  must  be  movin'.  Good-bye.  I 
am  obliged  to  you  for  the  loan  of  that  are  coal,  for  I  left  my  fire- 
works behind."  And  I  tiirned  and  went  to  the  door,  to  intercept 
the  boy,  so  that  he  mightn't  give  my  name  ;  for  I  am  well  known 
on  the  Shelburne  coast,  having  set  up  a  clock  in  every  house  in 
the  county  almost.     Wo  met  at  the  threshold. 

"  Mr.  Nickerson,"  said  he,  "  will  be  here  torectly,  Sir." 

'*  All  right,  my  lad.  Now,  here's  the  half-dollar  you  aimed. 
You  see  how  easy  money  is  aimed  by  them  that's  willin'to  work. 
You're  a  smart  lad,  and  would  make  a  smart  man,  if  you  had  a 
chance.  Now,  cross  over  that  neck  ;  under  the  bank  is  a  boat. 
Tell  them  that's  in  it  to  hold  on  there  for  me  ;  and  do  you  wait 
till  I  come,  and  I  will  give  you  a  quarter-dollar  more."  ' 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  said  the  boy,  all  animation,  and  was  going  to  start 
off  again,  Avhen  I  said  : 

"  And  boy  !  " 

"  Yes,  Sir." 

•'  Do  you  know  Jabe  Lunn  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sir  ;  he  lives  close  by." 

"  Well,  he  used  to  be  the  laziest  rascal  in  all  Shelburne  county. 
If  you  will  ax  him  to  come  and  swing  on  the  gate  with  me  for 
half  an  hour,  and  suck  sugar-burlcy»  I  will  give  you  another 
quarter-dollar,  for  I  haute  got  a  soul  to  talk  to,  and  my  tongue  is 
getting  rusty  on  the  hinge.     Now  off  like  a  shot." 

I  followed  him  an  instant  with  my  eye,  and  then  said  loud 
enough  to  myself  to  be  heard  inside  :  "A  plaguey  smartboy  that — 
well-mannered,  too — and  the  gracious  knows  where  he  got  such 
nice  manners  from  !"     Then  1  took   a  step  or  two  forward,  and 


THE  HOUSE  WITHOUT  HOPE. 


123 


start 


unty. 

10  for 

other 

ue  is 

loud 
lat — 
such 
and 


IP!  J 


tlion  suddenly  returned,  and  looked  in.  "  Good-hye,  old  man," 
sais  [,  a  raisin'  of  my  voice  *'  I  see  you  are  dumb  ;  I  hope  yon 
aiiit  doef ;"  and  1  sauntered  towards  the  road,  for  I  knew  I  should 
he  called  back.  I  had  sowed  the  seeds  of  curiosity — perhaps  jea* 
lousy — about  Nickerson.  High  words  succeeded  my  departure  j 
and  the  wife  soon  followed  me,  and  besought  me  to  wait  for  Mr. 
Nickerson.  She  said  her  husband  was  subject  to  these  gloomy 
fits,  and  this  one  was  passin'  off.  Poor  thing  1  like  all  wives,  she 
made  every  excuse  but  the  right  one,  and  that  was  that  he  was  a 
nasty  cross-grained  critter,  that  wanted  a  good  quiltin'  to  warm 
his  blood — for  warm  blood  makes  a  warm  heart,  that's  a  fact.  W(dl, 
back  1  went.  I  gained  my  pint.  1  wanted  to  examine  the  crit- 
ter and  probe  the  sore  points,  and  sec  what  on  earth  ailed  him. 

"  Come,  8ir,"  sais  she,  "sit  down  please."  And  she  took  her 
apron,  and  wiped  the  dust  off  the  chair — a  common  country  prac- 
tice— and  took  another  herself. 

"  Come  to  preach,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Old  Peter,  who  had  found 
his  tongue  at  last. 

•'  No,  my  friend,  I  am  not  ordained  ;  and  them  that  aint,  have 
got  somethin'  to  larii  tiiemselves. 

"  Come  to  loctur',  pjrhaps  V 

"No,"  sais  T,  *'  I  have  not  come  to  lectur'  you." 

"  I  don't  mean  that,"  he  said,  for  curiosity,  when  once  started, 
aint  easy  kept  in  ;  "  I  mean  call  a  meetin',  read  a  lectur',  and 
pass  round  the  hat." 

"No,"  sais  1,  "I  don't  put  my  money  in  my  hat,  but  in  my 
pocket.  Come  here,"  sais  I,  "  my  beautiful  little  curly-headed 
boy,  and  I'll  show  you  the  pocket  is  better  than  the  hat ;"  and  I 
took  out  a  silver  threepenny  bit,  and  a  large  copper  half-penny. 

"  Go  to  the  gentleman,"  said  the  mother. 

"  Now,"  sais  I,  ''  which  will  you  have?" 

Well,  child-like,  he  took  the  biggest. 

"My  friend,"  sais  I,  "  that  big  fellow  promises  the  most,  but  can 
do  the  least.  The  small  white  chap  is  just  worth  six  of  him  tho' 
he  don't  look  like  it.  Don't  trust  professions  when  you  grow  up." 

"Oh!  I  see,"  said  Peter,  relapsin'  into  his  sulkiness,  "I  see 
now,  you  are  a  canvasser  ?" 

*'  No  I  ain't,"  said  I.  "  I  hate,  and  despise,  and  detest  politi- 
cians of  all  sorts,  sizes,  shapes,  and  names." 

"  The  devil  you  do  !"  said  he.     "  So  do  I." 

"xVh  ha!"  sais  I,  "  that  s  one  o'  the  places  the  shoe  pinches." 

"But  maybe,"  and  he  still  looked  dissatisfied,  "maybe  you  are 
a  lawyer  chap  ?" 

"Maybe  I  aint,"  sais  I ;  "  for  I  don't  calculate  to  live  on  the  fol- 
lies, the  vices,  the  crimes,  and  misfortunes  of  others,  but  to  airn  my 


124 


THE 


HOUSE  WITHOUT  HOPE 


»; 


bread  like  an  honest  man.     Tako  care  of  that  bit  of  silv€r,  my  lit- 
tle boy,"  sais  I.     "  Don't  give  it  to  a  lawyer  when  you  grow  up.'' 

"  What  mout  your  name  be  ?"  said  Potter,  turning  halt'  round, 
and  takin'  a  look  at  me. 

•'  Woll,"  said  I,  •'  it  mout  be  Mr.  Samuel ;"  I  thought  I'd  keep 
back  Slick,  for  I  knew  he  Avouldn't  talk  if  he  discovered  who  I  was. 

"  Samuel  !"  said  he.  "  I  knew  a  man  oncet  of  that  name.  He 
was  a  Jew.  He  used  to  come  from  Meremachi,  and  tra"ded  here  in 
^ewel'ry." 

"  I  have  heard  of  him,"  said  I ;  "  Samuel  the  Jew.  But  don't 
you  know  that  a  man  may  have  an  everlastin'  long  beard  like  you, 
or  be  called  Samuel  like  me,  and  yet  neither  of  us  be  Jews.  I 
never  had  but  four  jewels  in  my  life,  and  them  my  father  gave 
me.     They  have  made  my  fortin.' 

'•  '  Master  Samuel,'  said  he,  (I  came  very  near  lettin'  the  eat 
out  of  the  bag  by  eayin'  Sam),  '  I  have  four  jewels  for  you.' 

"  Well  it  made  my  eyes  twinkle. 

•'  *  Now,'  thinks  I,  '  won't  I  make  the  galls  stare.  What  might 
they  be  like,  Sir  ?  '  said  I. 

"  'Why,'  sais  he,  ^ first,  rise  early  ;  secondlij,  work  hard  ;  thirdly, 
be  frugal;  fourthly,  pay  as  you  go.'  Heavens  audairth  !  how  dis- 
appointed I  was. 

•'  Aint  that  .\nice  story,  my  little  boy  ?"  for  he  had  got  inter- 
ested, and  had  come  close  to  me. 

"  Yes,  Sir,  it  is." 

"  Well,  it  is  almost  as  pretty  as  you  be.  But  never  forget  it, 
they  Avill  make  you  a  man  as  they  have  me.  '  Do  you  call  them 
jewels,  father  '/'  said  I. 

"  •  Yes,  I  do,'  said  he  ;  '  and  worth  more,  too,  than  all  the  gew- 
gaws of  stones,  glass  beads  called  brilliants,  and  gold  settiu's  and 
lixin's  in  the  world.' 

"  No,  I  am  no  Jew." 

'  AVell,  arter  all  this  palaver,"  said  old  Stick-in-the-mud,  "  what 
are  you  arter  i" 

"  [  am  arter  another  coal  of  fire,"  said  I,  "to  light  a  fresh  cigar 
M'itli.  For  goodness  gracious  sake,  don't  grudge  me  that.  Give 
mo  a  I'ght ;  and  if  you  don't,  you  may  go  to  the  devil,  and  I  will 
go  to  Texas." 

"  Peter  !  Peter  !"  said  his  wife,  risin'  up,  "are  you  a  goin'  for 
to  drive  the  gentleman  out  of  tlie  house  agin  ?  Oh  dear  !  oh  dear! 
My  goodness,  it  aint  often  wo  see  the  likes  of  him  here,  who 
merely  asks  to  light  his  pipe,  sits  down  and  talks  like  one  of  us, 
and  has  no  pride." 

0!i  ho  !  sais  I  to  myself,  there  is  another  place  the  shoe  pinch- 
es.    I'll  find  the  sore  spots  by-and-by. 

"  it  Id  your  jaw,"  says  he,  "  will  you  ?     You  don't  know  what 


h! 


mm'^ 


THE     HOUSE     WITHOUT     HOPE. 


125 


you  arc  talkiu'  about.  Who  the  devil  are  you?"  saicl  old  Peter, 
addressing  me.  "I  don't  know,  and  you  don't  seem  willing  to  tell 
me;  but  I  like  your  talk,  and  you  are  Avelcome  to  wait  here  fur 
Eldnd.     You  warn't  born  yesterday,  I  knoAV." 

"I  guess  not,"  said  I;  "I  was  born  thirty-five  years  ago. 
Well,"  sais  I,  "there  is  another  thing  I  want." 

"1  thought  so,"  said  he;  "I  knew  you  were  arter  somcthin'. 
People  don't  force  their  talks  or  their  company  on  others  for  noth- 
in' ;"  and  ho  sot  down  and  looked  as  ugly  and  as  cross  as  ever, 
"What  is  it  you  are  arter?" 

"Why,"  sais  I,  "you  have  given  me  a  little  fire,  couldn't  you 
give  nie  a  di'op  of  water.  The  Shelburne  water  is  the  best  in  the 
world.  I  have  got  a  little  mite  of  brandy  in  this  flask,"  taking  it 
out  of  my  pocket,  "  and  I  should  like  to  take  some  with  you  before 
we  part,  unless  you  grudge  the  water  as  much  as  you  did  the  fire ; 
if  you  do,  you  nay  keep  it  to  put  it  out  afore  you  go  to  bed. 
Come  old  fellow,"  said  I,  tappin'  him  on  the  shoulder,  "  don't  be 
grumpy,  you  will  never  see  me  agin  arter  to-day;  and  if  you 
hain't  no  objection,  give  me  the  bucket,  and  I'll  go  and  draw  a 
little  fresh  water  from  the  well,  and  we'll  liquor." 

''Draw  water?"  said  he,  risin'  up  slowly  in  astonishment. 
"How  the  plague  do  you  know  where  the  well  is?" 

"  llow  the  plague  do  I  know  tliat  you  owe  Lock-and  Key  of 
Rfjggcd  Island,  and  Snow  of  Shelburne  ?  How  do  I  know  that 
Muir  builds  for  Fairbanks  and  Allison?  That  you  aint  a  squire, 
though  you  ought  to  be?  That  Jabe  Lunn  is  lazy,  and  Eklad 
Nickerson  is  a  good  pilot  ?  Come,  give  me  the  bucket,  the  well  is 
under  the  willow-tree  there  to  the  right,  near  the  road." 
"Mother,"  said  he,  "did  you  ever  hear  tl^e  like  of  that?" 
"Never,"  said  she. 

"Nor  I  either,"  said  he;  "but  nee(!«  must  when  the  devil  drives, 
so  here  goes,"  and  off  he  went  for  tlie  waier. 

"  Mister,"  said  his  wife,  when  he  was  gone,  "I  see  you  havo 
been  about  here  afore,  and  know  who  we  are,  tho'  Ave  don't  knoAv 
Avho  you  be." 

"That's  a  fact,"  sais  I. 

"^ly  poor  husband  is  dissatisfied  and  discouraged;  talk  to  him, 
do,  Sir,  if  you  please,  for  you  talk  diiVerent  from  anybody  els*. 
I  s.iAv  you  was  detarmincd  to  make  liim  speak  to  you,  and  nobody, 
I  do  believe,  could  have  done  it  bat  yourself,  because  you  done 
Avaut  not]^  '  of  hira,  and.  now  he  Avill  tell  you  any  thin'  you  like, 
I)o  encourage  him  if  you  can,  pray  do,  Sir;  ho  is  doAvn-hcaitcd 
and  down  in  the  Avorld,  he  says  he  is  past  hope.  It's  dreadful  to 
hear  him  talk  that  Avay!" 

"  Come,  bear  a  hand,"  sais  I,  "my  old  boy,  for  I  Avant  a  drop 
of  somethin'  to  drink  (not  that  I  cared  about  it,  but  I  guessed  h^ 


!   I 


m  ■ 


■ft 


Ml 


\W 


m 


u\ 


'if 


I' 


12G 


THE    HOUSE     WITHOUT    HOPE 


did.)  Try  that,  it  will  warm  the  cockles  of  your  heart,  and  then 
let  us  have  a  dish  of  chat,  for  my  time  is  short,  and  I  must  be  a 
movin'  soon.     How  do  you  like  that,  eh  1     It  aint  bad  is  it  1 " 

"Well  it  aint,"  said  he,  "that's  a  fact." 

"Now,"  sais  I,  "my  friend  sit  down  and  talk.  I  have  told  you 
Avhat  I  aint,  now  tell  me  what  you  aint." 

"Well,"  sais  he,  "  I  aint  a  Papist,  I  can't  abide  them,  with  their 
masses,  holy  water,  and  confessions." 

"  They  have  as  good  right  to  be  Papists,  as  you  have  to  be  a 
Protestant,"  sais  I;  "  and  the  world  is  wide  and  large  enough  for 
lioth  of  you.  Let  them  alone,  and  they  Avill  let  you  be,  ?/"  t/tci/ 
can.     Perhaps  you  arc  a  churchman?" 

"No,  1  don't  hold  to  them  either,  their  ministers  are  too  proud; 
they  talk  down  to  you  like  as  if  you  only  onderstood  a  little  com- 
mon English,  but  don't  take  30U  up  to  them,  do  you  comprehend?" 

"  Exactly,"  sais  I,  "I  take;  but  help  yourself  to  a  little  of  that 
are  old  particular  Cogniac,  for  talking  is  dry  work.  Exactly,  but 
1/ou  don't  comprehend.  You  couldn't  onderstand  plain  English  if 
you  was  to  die  for  it.  If  you  was  to  go  to  Yorkshire,  or  Somerset- 
shire, or  Cornwall,  or  any  of  them  counties  where  plain  English  is 
siKtkeu,  you  couMn't  onderstand  one  word  of  it,  any  more  nor  if  it 
was  French.  Plain  English  aint  plain  at  all ;  it's  like  common  sense, 
the  most  oncommon  thing  in  the  world.  And  if  they  was  to  take 
you  up  to  them,  it  would  be  half  Latin  and  Greek,  and  j-ou 
couldn't  comprehend  that;  and  as.for  pride,  aint  there  a  little  mite 
or  morsel  of  that  in  your  not  acknowledgin'  a  superior?" 

*'  That  are  a  fact,"  said  his  wife,  "  I  am  a  churchwoman  myself; 
and  I  often  tell  him  it  aint  the  parson  that's  proud,  but  him." 

"Mother,"  said  he,  "will  you  hold  your  tongue?  because  if  you 
won't,  you  had  better  leave  the  room.  You  don't  know  what  you 
are  a-talking  about." 

"Come,"  sais  I,  "go  on;  for  there  is  nothin',  next  to  work,  I 
love  so  much  as  talk.  Bi/  loork  you  get  i  oney,  by  talk  you  get 
knowledge.''^ 

"Well,  the  Methodist  preachers  are  as  proud  as  the  church  par- 
sons, and  better  paid,"  said  he. 

"So  much  the  better  for  you,"  said  I,  "for  they  want  the  less 
from  you." 

"Want,  is  it?"  said  he.  "why  they  all  want  something  or  an- 
other. There  was  a  Latter-Day  Saint  came  hero  last  Sabbath 
month  from  the  Cape  to  preach.  They  say  he  is  a  great  wracker, 
}?elps  the  poor  people's  things  ashore,  and  lets  the  owners  swim 
for  it.  Well  his  horse  was  as  fat  as  a  seal,  and  shined  in  the  sun 
tjo  as  nearly  to  put  your  eyes  out. 

"'Friend  Potter,'  said  he,  they  all  call  you  friend  when  the  hat 
is  to  go  roinid,  *a  marciful  man  is  marciful  to  his  beast,'     Thinks  1 


THE     HOUSE     WITHOUT     HOPE 


127 


to  myself  I  wonder  if  you  are  marciful  to  your  wife,  for  she  is  as 
thin  as  a  crow,  and  if  all  your  wracks  are  no  better  than  her,  the 
trade  wouldn't  be  worth  follerin'." 

"  Peter,  Peter,"  said  his  wife,  "how  loosely  you  talk." 

"  I  wish  your  tongue  warn't  so  loose,"  said  he,  "  what  business 
is  it  of  yours  how  I  talk  ?  '  Mr.  Potter,'  said  the  preacher,  •  have 
you  a  lock  of  hay  to  spare  ?  ' 

*<  *  No,'  sais  I,  *  I  haint.  Hay  is  six  pounds  a  ton  here,  and 
mine  is  fed  out  long  ago.  My  cattle  is  most  starved,  and  is  now 
to  the  liftin'.' 

<« '  Well,'  sais  he,  '  have  you  are  a  dog-fish  you  don't  want  ?  ' 

"  'Yes,'  sais  I,  '  plenty.  Some  I  try  out  for  ilc,  and  some  I  use 
for  manure.     What  do  you  want  of  'em  ?  ' 

'' '  I'll  tell,'  said  he.  '  That  are  horse  that  is  so  fat  and  shiny 
lias  eat  only  a  few  hundredweight  of  hay  since  last  fall  ;  two  dog- 
fish a  day  did  all  the  rest  of  the  feedin',  and  look  at  him,  aint  he 
apictur'r" 

"Is  that  a  fact,  Mr.  Potter  ?  "  sais  I, 

"  A  natural  truth,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  my  friend,  that  is  the  good  of  talk,  as  I  told  you,  you  larn 
something  by  it.  I  never  heard  that  afore,  and  to  poor  fishermen 
it's  worth  more  than  all  the  boards  of  agriculture  ever  did  for  them. 
]Jy-and-bye,  I'll  tell  you  somethin'  you  don't  know,  for  swapping 
+'acts  is  ^yjtter  than  swapping  horses  any  timeP 

"  Yes,"  said  Peter,  looking  wise,  "  I  go  to  hear  all  religionists, 
but  hitch  on  to  none." 

"  Tliafs  naiural^^  sais  I,  "/or  a  man  that  linoivs  less  than  any 
or  more  than  all  of  them.  But  I  didn't  mean  to  ax  you  Avhat  sect 
you  belonged  to.  Like  you,  I  don't  belong  to  any  sect ;  but  like 
your  wife,  I  belong  to  the  Church  ;  however,  I  never  talk  of  these 
tilings.     What  I  should  like  to  know  is — what  you  are  ?" 

"  Oh,  now  1  understand  you,"  said  he  ;  "  oh  !  1  am  neither  con- 
sarvative  nor  liberal.  I  have  no  hope  in  either  of  them.  In  fact  I 
am  desperate,  and  I  have  no  hope.  I  don't  put  my  hope  ir  princes, 
for  I  never  saw  one  ;  nor  on  any  son  of  man,  for  all  men  are  liars  ; 
nor  on  any  son  of  a  gun  of  a  governor,  for  though  they  don't  lie, 
they  don't  speak  the  truth.  All  they  say  is  I'll  see,  which  means 
I'll  see  you  out  of  the  house,  or  I'll  inquire,  which  means  I'll  in- 
quire for  an  excuse.     I  hope  I  may  be  hanged — " 

"  Oh  !  Peter  Potter,  how  you  talk,"  interrupted  his  wife. 

"Mother,  will  you  hold  your  tongue  now,  I  tell  youj"  said  her 
spouse. 

"  Your  wife  is  right,"  sai.s  I,  •'  don't  hope  to  be  hanged,  or  you 
will  be  disappointed,  say  wish." 

"Well,  call  it  what  you  like.  May  I  be  hanged  if  ever  I  hope 
again." 


128 


THE      HOUSE    WITHOUT     HOPE 


1  ••t 


"  Why,  what  on  airth's  the  matter  ? " 

"  Matter,"  said  he,  "  everything  is  the  matter.  Things  is  so 
high  you  can't  live  here  now." 

"  So  much  tlie  better  for  a  poor  man  all  over  America,"  sais  I, 
*•  for  if  you  raise  less,  the  price  rises  in  proportion  ;  all  you've  got 
to  do  is  to  work  harder,  and  you'll  grow  rich." 

"  The  fish,"  he  continued,  ''  ain't  so  plenty  as  they  used  to  be; 
the  rot's  in  the  potaters  ;  and  the  weavel  in  the  wheat  ;  and  the 
devil  in  every  thing.'' 

•'  Why  man  alive,"  sais  I,  "  how  easy  it  is  to  grumble  ;  if  it  was 
only  as  hard  as  work,  all  the  world  would  be  well  to  do  in  agineral 
way  1  reckon.  As  for  wheat,  you  never  raised  any,  so  you  can't 
complain  of  the  weavel,  and  as  to  potatoes,  fifty  bushels  was  about 
your  biggest  crop,  for  you  like  superfine  Yankee  flour  better.  Y\nd 
as  to  luck  in  the  mackerel  fishery,  do  you  calculate  to  bo  so  lucky 
as  for  tliem  to  come  to  you,  or  are  you  too  lazy  to  go  to  them  ? 
There  aint  a  single  vessel  gone  from  this  coast  yet,  folks  are  so 
tarnel  sleepy  ;  and  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes  thirty-six  sail  of 
Ya\  -ec  fishermen,  this  blessed  day,  one-half  returnin,'  deep  loaded, 
and  the  other  goin'  on  the  second  trip.  Some  folks  are  too  lazy  to  live." 
"  That  are  a  nateral  fact,"  said  his  wile  ngain,  who,  after  all, 
seemed  determined  to  have  her  own  way  a  little,  as  well  as  her 
husband. 

*'  Woman,"  said  he,  imploringly,  finding  the  current  against 
him,  "  now  do  hold  your  t<»nguo,  will  you  l  " 

"  No,  I  won't  hold  my  tongue,"  she  re])]ied  with  spirit ;  ''  I  have 
as  good  a  right  to  talk  as  you  have.  Oh,  wife  !  oh,  husband  !  '* 
said  she,  "  the  gentleman  talks  sense,  and  you  know  it." 

To  preserve  the  peace,  I  said,  "  I  wonder  what  keeps  Eldad  Nick- 
erson  so  long  ? "  and  then  1  took  out  my  watch,  and  ])retended  to 
look  puzzled.  "  If  ho  don't  come  to  me  soon,"  sais  1,  -'I  must  go 
to  him,  that's  a  fact.  '3ut  what  on  airth  had  either  Oonsarvatives 
or  Liberals  to  do  with  either  the  weavel,  the  rot,  or  the  run  offish  ?" 
'*  Well,  not  exactly  all  mixed  up  that  way,"  said  he  ;  *'  but 
added  up,  they  are  too  much  to  stand.  There  is  no  hope  for  a 
poor  man,  but  to  lie  down  and  die." 

"  It  would  be  better  for  their  Avidders,"  said  I,  "if  one-half  of 
'em  did." 

"  So  say  I,"  said  his  spouse,  who  seemed  to  think  there  might  be 
some  hope  then. 

*'  Well,  but  what  have  politicians  done  ?  " 

"  Done  !  "  said  he;  "  Avhy,  done  nothin',  or  done  things  brown. 
Did't  the  Consarvatives  appoint  that  consaited  iiincumpoop  and 
jackass,  Mr.  Ryder  Kitcum,  to  lay  out  the  road-money  right  in  front 
of  my  door,  year  after  year  ?  Warn't  that  enough  to  rais  tho 
dander  of  a  Quaker  ?  And  then,  arter  I  turned  tail,  and  voted  for  the 


THE     HOUSE     WITHOUT     HOPE 


129 


one-half  of 


RaiHeals,  and  fit  and  got  licked  awful,  they  actilly  wouldn't  ap- 
point inc  hog- reave." 

"  I  sh'-uliin't  account  that  office  no  great  honor,"  said  I,  "nor 
protit  nithor." 

'  Well,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh  of  regret  at  this  review  of  the  ex- 
tent of  his  misery,  "  the  honor,  perhaps,  was  no  great  loss,  but  the 
proiit  was  coiisidei-able.  Most  of  the  male  folks  here  go  a  fishing  ; 
\v(  11,  in  course,  while  they  are  away  in  the  fall,  their  pigs  Avill  get 
out  into  tlie  highway  ;  and  then  a  man  that  does  his  duty,  which 
]  aluavs  strive  my  best  to  do,  nabs  them  in  a  minnte,  advertises 
tlu'in  i'or  sale  right  off;  and  as  there  is  no  one  to  bid,  buys  them 
up  lor  half  nothiu'.     They  actilly  fed  my  family  all  winter."' 

'  Well,  I  never,"  said  Mrs.  Potter,  '•  in  all  my  born  days  !  Why, 
]\>tc'r,  you  have  told  that  fib  so  often,  you  actilly  belit've  it  now 
yourself." 

"  Well,  Avcll,"  sais  I  to  myself,  "  this  chap  is  a  bit  of  a  scoun- 
(Ind  nr  bottom,  after  all ;  or  else  he  is  so  ignorant,  he  don't  know 
right  from  wrong.  Mr.  Potter,"  said  I,  "  tliat  maybe  accordin'  to 
Pr-vince  law,  but,  depend  uj)on  it,  it's  agin  the  moral  law.  I 
don't  wonder  tliem  hogs  was  hard  to  digest,  and  made  you  feel 
all  the  time  as  if  you  had  nothin'  to  do,  but  lie  down  and  sleep 
till  you  died.  It  was  your  pork,  and  not  your  care,  that  Avas  too 
heavy.     Conie,  cheer  up,  man." 

After  a  pause,  he  saiij,  ''  You  liavo  the  eye  of  a  lawyer  and  the 
tongue  of  a  minister  ;  but  after  all  what  is  the  use  of  talking  ?  I 
am  in  a  regubir,  tormented  frizzle  of  a  fix.  I  am  tied  hand  and  foot, 
and  I  can't  help  myself,  nohow  I  can  work  it.  But  it's  my  own 
fault ;  1  can't  blame  nobody  but  myself.  "What's  done,  is  done  ; 
but  sometimes,  when  I  sit  down  and  think  over  what  is  past  and 
what  a  fool  I  have  been,  I  nearly  go  distracted  ;"  and  he  struck 
his  forehead  with  his  clenched  fist,  and  looked  the  very  pictur  of 
despair  ;  and  in  the  bitterness  of  his  heart,  said  he  wished  he  was 
dead.  "  You  can't  swim  long  agin  the  current,  stranger,"  he  con- 
tiiuu'd,  "  without  cuttin'  your  throat  as  a  pig  does  ;  and  if  tliat 
don't  hap])en,  you  soon  get  tired  out,  and  the  waters  carry  you 
down,  and  you  are  foundered  for  ever." 

"  Try  an  eddy,"  said  I  :  "  you  ought  to  know  enough  of  the 
stream  of  life  to  find  one  of  them  ;  and  then  you  would  work  up 
river  as  if  it  was  flood-tide.  At  the  end  of  the  eddy  is  still  water, 
where  you  can  rest  for  another  struggle." 

"  Yes,"'  said  he,  bitterly  ;  and  at  the  end  of  life,  there's  the 
grave,  where  the  struggle  is  ever.  It  is  too  late  now  ;  i  have  no 
hope." 

"  ^[r.  Potter,"'  said  I,  "  poverty  is  full  of  privations,  vexations, 
and  mortifications,  no  doubt,  and  is  hard  to  bear.  The  heart  of  man 
is  naturally  proud,  and  poverty  humbles  it  to  the  dust ;  but  poverty 


ki 


m 


III 


V'l 


f 


'  :!; 


130 


THE     HOUSE     WITHOUT     HOPE. 


can  be  endured — honest  poverty,  and  so  can  misfortun'  provided 
memory  don't  charge  it  to  our  own  folly,  as  it  does  in  your  case." 

"  Oil,  Sir  !"  said  he,  "  when  I  look  back  sometimes,  I  go  well 
nigh  mad." 

"  What  has  made  you  mad,  ought  to  make  you  wise,  my  friend," 
I  replied.  "  A'  good  pilot  has  a  good  memory  ;  lie  knows  every 
current,  sunk  rock,  shoal,  breaker,  and  sand-bar;  havin',  as  like 
as  not  been  in  a  scrape  onct  or  twice  on  all  of  them.  A^emor)/  is 
nnth'in''  hut  experience,.  The  ^nemorij  of  the  tvrong  way  Iccjis  us  in 
the  right  one,  and  the  memory  of  the  right  road  reminds  (if  pleas- 
ant journeys.  To  mourn  to-day  over  the  wreck  of  yesterday  only 
increases  the  loss,  and  diminishes  the  value  of  what  little  is  I  (ft  to 
us.  If  you  are  in  a  fix,  back  water,  throw  the  lead,  look  out  for 
a  channel,  and  pull  into  some  cove  or  another!" 

"  Nothin'  but  Providence  can  help  me  I"  he  said,  shaking  his 
head  ;  "  and  I  have  no  hope  of  that,  for  I  don't  deserve  its  interr 
fere  nee." 

"  I  guess  not,"  said  I,  "for  Providence  requires  three  things  of 
us  afn-e  it  will  help  us — a  stout  heart,  a  strong  arm,  and  a  stiff 
upper  lip.     Can  you  iish  ?" 

"  I  guess  I  can  !  I  won't  turn  my  back  on  no  man  in  these 
parts,  either  for  mackerel  or  cod,  the  shore  or  deep  sea-fishing." 

"  Why  the  plague  don't  you  go  to  work  then,  like  a  man  ?" 

"  Because  I  can't  get  the  supplies.  If  I  go  to  Birchtown,  they 
grab  nil  the  catcli  for  the  outfit,  and  an  old  balance  ;  and  if  I  go 
to  Sholburn  I  hante  got  no  credit.  It's  no  use  talkin'.  When  you 
are  down,  poverty ,  like  snow-shoes,  keeps  your  feet  fast,  and  pre- 
vents your  rising  :  a  man  can't  hope  agin  hope." 

"  Why  not  engage  as  a  hand  on  board  another  man's ci'aft,  then  ?" 

"  What  !  go  as  a  hand,  when  I  have  always  gone  as  skipper  ? 
No,  no  !   stranger,  tliat  cat  Avon't  jump  !'' 

"  Lord  John  Russell  has  done  it,"  sais  I,  "and  a  bigger  man 
than  him  afore  his  day,  and  that's  John  Adams.  So  my  friend," 
sais  I,  let's  drop  the  subject,  for  I  don't  like  talkin'  nonsense.  It 
aint  your  misfortens,  nor  the  memory  of  the  past,  nor  your  pover- 
ty, that  ails  you,  but  your  tarnal  pride.  I  don't  pity  you  one  bit ; 
but  I  do  your  wife  and  children.  Your  panes  of  glass  in  your 
winders  are  all  shingles,  as  the  Patlanders  say,  and  the  room  is  so 
dark  I  can't  hardly  see  Mrs.  Potter ;  but  your  two  boys  I  have  seen, 
and  sir.  ;:  little  cha))S  they  be  too,  it's  a  pity  you  should  bring  'em 
up  to  .shamed  of  their  father.  Be  a  man  ! — above  all,  be  an  hon- 
est ma.      ''or  a  poor  man  that  won't  work  aint  honest  that's  a  tact." 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  at  that  poke  :  if  the  hide  is 
thick  on  the  rihs,  it\s  thin  on  the  flanks,  and  there  is  nothing  like 
trying  for  tender  spots. 

"  Work,"  said  I,  foUowiu'  up  that  jibe  ;  *•  aim  your  own  pork, 


THE  HOUSE  WITHOUT  HOPE. 


131 


and  nee  how  sweet  it  will  he.  Work  and  see  how  well  you  will  he. 
Work  and  see  horv  cherrfi'l  you  will  be.  Work  and,  see  how  inde- 
penderf  you  will  he.  Work  and  see  Jiow  Itaiqiy  your  Jamily  will 
be.  Work  and.  see  how  religious  you  will  he,Jor  before  you  know 
where  you  are,  instead,  of  repiniu'  at  Providence,  you  will  find,  ytrur- 
self  oj/'ering  up  thanks  for  the  the  numerous  blessings  you  enjoy. 
Oiu"  vossel  is  just  below,  on  a  coastin'  voyage  down  east.  Onmo 
nV)n^  v.'itU  me,  and  you  shall  have  five  pounds  cash  a  month,  and  bo 
found.  And  when  yon  return,  pnt  your  pride  in  one  pocket,  and 
vDur  w.'ij^es  in  the  otlier  and  see  whicli  will  weish  licaviest. 
Come  hope  for  the  best." 

For  a  few  minutes  he  remained  silent,  when  he  suddenly  sprung 
up,  seized  my  hand  and  said  : 

•'  Done  ;   it's  a  bargain." 

"'J'hank  Clod  for  that,"  said  Mrs.  Potter,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"Now,  Peter,"  said  I,  "wc  sail  to-night  if  the  wind's  fair,  so 
look  up  your  traps;  })ut  first  of  all  sliave,  and  make  yourself  look 
like  a  Christinn.     Come,  stir  your  stumps,  and  hope  for  the  besty 

"  1  do,"  said  he;  "it's  the  first  glimpse  of  hope  that  has  en- 
tered this  house  for  manv  a  long  dav.     I'll  be  ready  in  no  time." 

Artcr  all,  I  had  to  use  that  word  hope;  and  I  believe  it  must 
actilly  be  kept  a  little  longer  in  the  dictionary,  in  spite  of  all  pre- 
judice, for  such  poor  devils  as  Peter  Potter.  Lt  is  a  dxirk  room  that 
has  no  ray  of  light  in  it.  Hope  is  a  slender  reed  for  a  stout  man 
to  lean  on,  but  it  is  strong  enough,  I  do  suppose,  f of  them  that's 
infirm  of  mind  and  purpose.  The  houses  hope  builds  are  castles 
in  the  air.  The  houses  of  the  wretched,  who  are  altogether  without 
hope,  are  too  dis?nal  to  live  in.  A  slight  infusion  of  hope  may  be 
prescribed  in  bad  cases;  but  strong  doses  weaken  the  mind,  loosen 
the  morals,  and  destroy  the  happiness  of  those  who  indulge  in  them. 
The  true  rule  is,  perliaps,  not  to  let  hope  build  a  house  for  you,  or 
to  live  with  you  in  it;  but  he  might  come  to  visit  you  sometimes, 
to  cheer  you  up  a  little,  by  talking  pleasant,  and  getting  you  to 
look  on  the  bright  side  of  things,  when  you  are  in  a  solemncholy 
mood.  Hope  is  a  pleasant  acquaintance,  but  q,n  unsafe  friend. 
Hell  do  on  a  pinch  for  a  travelui'  companion,  but  he  is  rcot  the 
man  for  your  banker. 


132  AN    OLD    FRIEND    WITH    A    NEW    PACE 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


AN   OLD   FRIEND   WITH   A   NEW   FACE. 


|].| 


^' 


iii: 


'  1 


As  Totter  retired  into  one  of  the  bed-rooms,  for  the  purpose  of 
carryin'  his  good  resolutions  into  effect,  I  took  my  hat,  and  was  about 
to  proceed  by  the  path  to  Mr.  Nickerson's  house,  when  Mrs.  Potter, 
hastily  puttin'  on  a  bonnet,  followed  me  out.  The  moment  I  .saw 
her  in  the  broad  day-light,  I  recognised  her  as  Patty  Schneider,  the 
belle  of  the  coast,  but  now  sadly  changed  by  her  many  and  sore 
trials,  and  retainin'  but  little  that  vouched  for  her  former  beauty  and 
A  ivacity.  A  </ood  temper  must  he  hept  cool  to  retain  its  siccctness. 
Even  sugar,  wheu  fermented,  makes  vinegar,  and  sour  draughts 
make  wry  faces.  Her  cheerfulness  was  destroyed,  and  her  hus- 
band's temper  made  worse  by  the  poverty  into  which  they  had  fallen. 

Folks  talk  of  nations  and  colonies  being  capable  of  self-govern- 
ineut.  Show  me  one  mau  or  woman  in  either  tliat  is  able  to  govern 
themselves.  Pride  and  consait  ruin  us  all,  and  we  know  it,  and  yet 
we  flatter  the  pride  and  consait  of  the  public  to  rule  them.  Po- 
litical self-government  means  the  blind  leading  the  blind.  A  govern- 
ment is  an  asylum,  in  which  imbeciles  imagine  themselves  kings, 
queens,  and  statesmen,  and  are  indulged  in  their  delusions,  to  pre- 
serve the  peace  of  the  community. 

I  wish  they  would  make  a  statesman  of  Peter  Potter,  for  the  sake 
of  his  wife.  If  he  lived  on  the  pork  of  others,  so  do  Generals  and 
Admirals,  and  so  docs  the  manufacterers'  patriot  07i  clear  sheer,  with 
his  subscription  fortin.  Confiscatiu'  his  neighbour's  pigs,  is  only  an 
humble  imitation  of  Louis  Napoleon's  seizure  of  the  Orleans' 
estates.  Peter  has  been  enough  at  the  helm  to  larn  how  to  back 
and  fill.  What  more  does  any  ^Mme  Minister  know?  But  I  must 
leave  him  to  shave,  and  talk  to  his  wife,  Patty  Schneider.  Poor 
thinfj !  she  had  known  better  times,  for  her  father  was  the  richest 
trader  on  the  coast  in  his  day.  Whci'e  all  are  poor,  it  don't  take 
much  to  make  a  rich  man. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Samuel!"  she  said,  "how  happy  you  have  made  me 
to-day  1" 

''  Happy  i"  sais  I  to  myself,  as  I  turned  and  looked  at  her  pale, 
melancholy,  holler,  dragged-looking  face,  her  old  yaller  smoky  bon- 
net, her  faded  calico  gown,  lookin'  still  more  so  from  its  contrast 
with  a  clean  white  apron,  which,  womanlike,  she  had  quietly  slipped 
on  while  I  was  couvarsin'  with  her  husband  in  the  house.     She  had 


AN    OLD     FRIEND    WITH    A    NEW    PACK. 


188 


re  made  rae 


also  thrown  on  a  shawl,  to  cover  the  ravages  of  wear  and  tear  on  her 
(h-css,  and  as  she  spoke,  hastily  and  almost  stealthily,  adjusted  it  in 
ii.s  place,  and  rapidly  passin'  her  hand  under  her  bonnet,  confined 
her  still  luxuriant  and  beautiful  hair  within  its  narrow  limits.  Even 
in  this  hour  of  mingled  trouble  and  of  joy,  the  becomin's  were  not 
wholly  forgotten.  Woman  is  ever  true  to  her  nater;  and  what  we 
are  pleased  to  call  vanity,  and  female  folly,  is  the  mere  fulfilment  of 
the  law  of  her  bein',  without  obeying  which,  she  would  soon  cease 
to  fill  the  station  she  deservedly  enjoys  in  every  civilized  natiou. 
"  Happy  !"  saia  I  to  myself.  "  Dear  me  !  if  so  little  can  make  you 
happy,  what  a  brute  beast  your  husband  must  be  to  make  you  ever 
unhappy.     Patty,"  sais  I,  "you  seem  thankful  for  small  favours." 

"WhatT'  said  she.  ''What  did  you  say?  Did  you  call  mo 
Patty  ?     How  did  you  know  my  name  V 

"Didn't  Peter  call  you  Patty?"  sais  I. 

"No,  no,"  she  said.  "It  is  a  name  of  love  that,  and  I  haven't 
heard  it  for  a  long  time,"  and  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Why,  IMrs.  I'otter,"  sais  I,  "for  I  won't  call  you  Patty  no  more, 
first  because  it  sets  you  a-cryin' ;  and  secondly,  because,  as  you  say, 
it  is  a  word  of  love,  Peter  may  not  like  it.  Why,  Mrs.  Potter,  just 
now  you  told  me  I  had  made  you  happy,  and  here  you  are  a-cryin' 
away  like  an  April  shower,  jist  to  prove  it." 

"  Oh,  Sir!  that  word  Patty  called  up  times  that's  gone  so  sudden, 
that  it  quite  upset  me. 

"  I  came  to  thank  you  with  all  my  heart,"  she  said.  Your  kind- 
ness— ' ' 

"Do  tcMl"  sais  I.  "Now  don't  talk  that  day,"  (for  there's 
nothin'  I  hate  so  much  as  thanks,  especially  from  a  woman ;  it  makes 
a  feller  feel  foolish,  and  you  don't  know  exactly  what  to  say).  So, 
sais  I,  "  don't  talk  that  way ;  Fve  done  no  kindness.  We  have 
made  a  fair  trade.  I've  got  a  good  hand,  and  your  husband  has  got; 
good  wages.  There  ain't  no  obligation  in  it  ary  way,  and  say  no 
more  about  it." 

"Ob,  that's  not  it!"  she  said;  "you  didn't  want  him  at  all,  and 
you  know  it.  He  could  have  got  wages  always,  but  he  wouldn't 
work ',  he  said  it  was  useless.  You  have  made  him  feel  his  duty, 
opened  new  hopes  and  new  prospects  to  us  all,  and  made  us  quite 
happy.     I  sliall  never  forget — " 

"  Yes  yuu  will,  Pat — iilrs.  Potter,"  sais  I. 

•'  Call  !uo  I'atty,"  said  she ;  "  only  friends  do  that,  and  you  have 
been  the  best  friend  I  ever  had.     But  that  word  beats  me ;  how  did 

you  know  it  ?" 

"  Didn't  you  hear  him  say,  'Don't  cry,  Patty,'  "  sais  I,  "when 
yen  cried  t'o;  pleasure  seeiu'  him  consent  to  go  to  work  ?" 

"No,"  sais  she,  doubtfully;  "I  don't  recollect,"  and  she  looked 
12 


;-'t 


,1! , 


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a 

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^' 

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i 

184 


AN     OLD    FRIEND    WITH     A     N  K  W     FACE. 


!        ill 


I 


ill 


at  me  scrutinizin'ly,  as  if  I  was  tryia'  to  conceal  sometlni\'  from  her 
Said  she,  "  I  shall  never  forget." 

"  Ye^  you  will,  Patty,  Sit  down  here  ou  this  windfall  of  a  tree, 
and  I'll  tell  you  what  we  have  both  forgot.  How  are  you  agoin'  to 
get  on  without  him  V  Poor  thing  I  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  I 
know'd  what  she  was  thinkin'  of;  times  gone  by,  when  she  couldn't 
have  borne  the  partin' ;  but  she  didn't  say  a  word  f(jr  a  space.  Sais 
I,  "it's  usual  to  advance  some  of  the  wages  when  men  ship  that 
way,"  and  I  took  out  my  pocket-book,  and  opened  it,  and  bt'gan  to 
look  for  province  bills.     "  How  much  would  you  like  'i"  sais  1. 

"  I  won't  take  any  money.  Sir,"  she  said.  "  Settle  that  with  him, 
and  he  will  do  what's  right.  He  makes  himself  out  worse  than  he 
is,  and  as  he  is  detarmined  to  throw  the  blame  on  the  shoulders  of 
others ;  he  paints  everything  as  black  as  possible  That  story  of 
his  neighbours'  pigs  is  an  embelli.shmcut  of  his  own  imagination. 
I  would  have  died  before  I  would  have  tasted  provision  so  unjustly 
gotten." 

Thinking  she  might  be  left  to  starve  in  his  abs'.'iicc,  and  that  her 
refusal  arose  from  diffidence,  I  repeated  the  offer,  and  advised  her  to 
take  it;  but  she  promptly  but  civilly  refused.  As  I  was  returnin' 
the  notes  to  the  pocket  of  the  book,  she  put  out  her  hand,  and  said : 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Samuel !  what  a  beautiful  ring  that  is  !"  and  she  bent 
over  it  to  look  at  it.  It  was  paste  for  common  use,  but  a  capital 
imitation,  and  ho  great  value. 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?"  sais  1. 

"It's  the  handsomest  one  I  ever  saw,"  she  said. 

When  I  went  to  take  it  off,  I  found  she  had  a  portion  of  my  hand 
in  hers,  and  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  feel  her  rapidly  passing  her 
forefinger  lengthways  and  across  the  palm;  but  I  thought  it  was 
accidental,  and  talked  on.  "Look  at  the  workmanship,"  sais  I, 
handin'  it  to  her.  "Oh,  women,  women  !"  sais  I  to  myself,  "ain't 
you  a  puzzle,  that's  all!  In  the  midst  of  hunger  and  tears,  and 
almost  rags,  a  diamond  ring  has  charms  in  your  eyes." 

It  lowered  her  in  my  estimation,  that's  a  fact,  more  nor  her 
refusal  of  her  husband's  wages  had  raised  her.  "  Will  you  do  me 
the  favour  to  accept  it?"  sais  I.  "I  have  another,  and  I  guess  I 
have  no  use  for  this." 

"  Nor  I  nuther.  Sir,"  said  she.  "  That  ring  would  ill  become 
one  that  wants  the  common  necessaries  of  life.  It  would  hardly 
match  this  gown,  would  it?"  holdin'  up  a  small  piece  of  her  faded 
calico.  "  No,  Sir,  thank  you,  I  can't  take  it;  but  let  me  put  it  on 
you,  please.  How  soft  and  white  your  hand  is,"  she  remarked,  "  ia 
comparison  with  mine,"  holdin'  the  two  together  side  by  side,  and  I 
felt  the  same  light  pressure  of  her  forefinger  across  the  palm  of  my 
hand  as  before. 

"Poor  thing  I"  sais  I  to  myself,  "I  have  wronged   you    both 


AN  OLD  FRIEND  WITH  A  NEW  FACl. 


135 


timfis ;  I  did  think  you  would*  have  had  the  precaution  to  put  the 
advance  to  your  husband,  where  it  ought  to  go  —  into  your  pocket. 
Bnt  your  seuHC  of  lionour  was  stronger  than  your  sense  of  hunger 
or  expediency ;  and  1  did  think  you  h)ngcd  for  tlio  ring,  and  that 
your  vanity  was  stronger  than  your  judgment.  Man  like,  I  have 
wronged  you,  and  I  believe  in  my  soul,  it  ain't  the  first  time  by  a 
long  chalk,  that  I  have  put  a  wrong  construction  on  a  woman. 
Poor  critter  !  the  higher  1  thought  of  her,  the  more  I  pitied  her. 
But  while  I  was  a  tryin'  to  find  out  her  character,  she  was  busy  a 
tryin'  to  find  out  mine.  That  word  "  Patty"  had  created  doubts ; 
tukin'  the  trouble  to  preach  to  "  stick-in-the-mud"  her  husband,  and 
to  hire  him  when  she  thought  I  didn't  want  him,  offerin'  her  money, 
and  theu  a  handsome  gold  ring,  all  put  together,  made  a  considerable 
case  of  suspicion  agin  me.  I  began  to  sink  in  value  accordin'  to  her 
appraisement  of  me.  When  she  put  the  ring  ou  my  finger,  she  con- 
trived to  sit  down  agin  on  a  stump  just  opposite  to  me,  and  not  on 
the  trunk  of  the  same  tree. 

"Mr.  Samuel,"  said  she,  "who  in  the  world  arc  you?  Is  this 
what  they  call  mesmerism,  or  what  is  it?  You  have  bewitched  my 
boys,  you  have  altered  Potter  into  a  new  man,  and  j'ou  have  made 
me  so  happy.  I  only  want  to  know  one  thing  to  make  it  parfect, 
and  that  is,  is  it  all  real  ?  I  feel  scared.  You  are  not  what  you 
seem  to  bo." 

''  What  makes  you  think  so,  Putty  ?" 

"  Oh,  there  it  is  agin  ! — Patty  !  Oh,  that's  reading  backwards— 
that's  mesmerism.  I  have  seen  you  when  I  was  a  child,"  she  saidj 
''  I  saw  you  to  Boston,  to  school  there.  I  know  your  voice ;  I 
played  ivith  you  in  the  churchyard.  When  you  first  spoke,  you 
startled  me;  it  >>as  like  a  far-off  sound  on  the  ear!" 

She  was  excited;  her  eyes  lighted  up  brilliant,  and  she  railly  did 
look  beautiful.  "  Don't  deceive  yourself,"  I  said  j  "I  never  was  at 
school  at  Boston  in  my  life,  and  our  childhood  days  were  spent  far 
apart,  as  our  after  days  will  be." 

"Still  you  are  not  what  you  seem  to  be,"  she  said.  "While  you 
thought  my  aching  eyes,  that  were  tilled  with  tears,  were  adinirin' 
your  ring,  I  was  examinin'  your  hand.  Look  here.  Sir,"  and  she 
rose,  and  taking  it  in  hers,  turned  up  the  palm. 

"  You  are  no  sea  captin.  Sir.  Those  fingers  never  handled  ropes. 
There  is  no  tar  there,  and  hard  callous  skin  —  it's  softer  than  a 
woman's.     What  does  the  like  of  you  want  of  a  seaman  ?" 

"  Wull,  I  am  not  a  skipper,"  sais  I,  "  that's  a  fact.'' 

"Jn  the  name  of  goodness,  then,"  she  said,  "who  and  what  are 
you?  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  man  having  control  of  a  vessel, 
Japtin,  crew,  and  all ;  or  half  a  dozen  vessels  fitted  and  manfied  ? 
Is  that  an  oncommon  thinjjr  ?" 

"  I  thl^j,  Mrs.  Potter,  you  are  gettin'  on  too  fast  when  you  are 


m 


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If' 


■'i 


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18G 


AN  OLD  FRIEND  WITH  A  NEW  FACE. 


frightened  bccauso  a  man's  hand  is  nf>t  hard  that  don't  work  with  it; 
that  wears  a  ring  bocanso  ho  ca:i  afford  it ;  and  hiroH  a  man,  either 
because  ho  wants  him,  or  because  he  pleases,  and  then  stand  off  aa 
higli  cock-spotty  as  a  partridii;(',  and  piii>»  ont  njesmi'iisni.  You  arc 
wehiomo  to  your  thoughts,"  sais  I.  *'  I  can't  stand  lower  in  yuur 
estimation  thi|,n  I  do  in  my  own.  I  never  protended  to  bo  a  great 
man,  or  great  shakes  of  any  kind.  No  woman  ever  took  me  for 
either  If  she  had,  she'd  a  snapped  me  up  long  ago  as  quick  as  a 
duck  does  a  June  bug.  If  it  pleases  you  to  make  fun  of  me,  you'd 
better  bo  quick  then,  or  Eldad  will  be  here,  and  that's  the  last  you 
will  ever  see  of  me." 

"Oh  1  I  am  foolish  or  light-headed  I"  she  said.  "  This  onex- 
pected  turn  of  happiness  seemed  incredible — impossible  !  I  couldn't 
realise  it  all  at  once !  I  thought  I  had  know'd  you  in  childhood.  I 
sec  how  it  is  now.  I  have  seen  you  in  a  dream  —  a  long-forgotten 
dream — and  now  you  are  fulfillin'  it !  Yes,  that's  it.  I  see  it  now 
—  it's  the  hand  of  Providence  1  I'll  never  forget  you,  my  kind, 
good  friend,  as  long  as  1  live;"  and  she  shook  me  cordially  by  the 
hand. 

"  Yes  you  will.  Putty  ;  you  won't  as  much  as  remember  my  name 
soon,  let  alone  my  face.  A  word  of  advice  is  a  small  matter,  and 
not  worth  rememberin',  but  to  foller.  As  to  memory,  you  don't 
know,  as  well  as  1  do.  A  dear  old  friend  of  mine  used  to  say  : 
'  The  nicmorij  of  j)ast  favours  u  like  a  rabihow,  bfiylU,  vivid,  and 
beautiful ;  hut  It  soon  fades  awut/.  The  memory  of  injuries  is  en- 
graved on  the  heart,  and  remains  for  ever.'  " 

"It  may  be  so  with  men.  Sir,"  she  said,  "and  I  believe  it  is; 
but  it  aint  so  with  women.  Men  are  selfish,  and  take  everything 
as  their  due ;  and  if  their  memory  is  bad,  it  is  because  they  are  too 
consaited  to  charge  it.  But  women  —  have  you  a  woman  ?  If  I 
may  be  so  bold,  are  you  married  ?" 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  I  have  no  wife,  and  never  had.  I  am  a  bird 
of  passage  —  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow  —  and  hiiven't  had  lei- 
sure to  think  of  marriage." 

"  Well,  it's  time  you  did,"  she  said.  "  You  deservo  a  good  wife, 
and  I  hope  you  will  get  one.     I  am  sure  you  would  be  kind  to  her." 

"  The  time  is  past  now,"  said  I,  mock  modestly.  "  I  am  too  old; 
and,  as  an  old  aunt  of  mine  onct  said  :  '  them  that  I'd  have,  wouldn't 
have  me,  and  them  that  would  have  me,  the  devil  wouldn't  have.' 
Patty,"  sais  I,  "  the  fox  that  had  his  tail  cut  off,  wanted  to  persuade 
every  other  fox  to  try  the  short  dock,  too." 

As  I  said  that,  I  saw  she  took  it  wrong,  for  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears.  She  thought  t  meant  more  than  I  said.  It  is  strange,  but 
tru'^  notwithstanding :  the  faith  and  the  courage  of  women  is  indo- 
mitable. A  gall  makes  shipwreck  of  everything  by  gettin'  married 
in  haste,  and  repentin'  at  leisure.     No  sooner  is  she  a  widder,  than 


\h 


AN    OLD    FRIEND    WITH    A    NEW    FACE. 


137 


she  ventures  to  sea  agoin,  risks  her  all  in  another  voyage  as  full  of 
confidence  as  ever;  and  when  the  Btorins  come,  and  the  ship  is  dis- 
niiustod,  and  she  is  picked  up  in  the  life-bout  hiilf-drowned,  half- 
starved,  half-nuked,  and  alone  in  the  waste  of  waters,  no  sooner  does 
she  reach  land  and  mix  in  the  gay  world  agin,  before  the  idea  crosses 
her  luind  that  better  luck  is  still  in  store  for  her. 

The  storius  are  over—  storms  don't  rage  for  ever  —  the  sky  looks 
serene,  and  not  a  ripple  is  seen  on  the  ocean.  Fair  weather  sailin* 
is  a  pleasant  thing,  the  temptation  is  too  strong,  and  she  is  ready 
to  embark  again.  Why  notl'  Does  it  follow  because  the  leeward 
is  all  black,  wild,  and  dreary,  that  the  sweet  windward  sky  shall 
ever  again  be  overcast  by  the  tempest  and  the  thunder-clouds  ?  Not 
a  bit  of  it.  Go  it,  my  little  widder,  when  you  are  young.  The 
game  of  life  is  not  played  out  with  one  or  two  hands.  Who  knows 
what  are  on  the  cards ;  and  diamonds  is  trumps  now  if  hearts  aint. 
I  was  sorry  I  alluded  to  the  fox's  tail.  She  thought  it  was  a  jibe. 
Wounded  pride  should  he  touched  lightli/.  The  skin  is  thin  and 
phujt/  scnsative, 

"Patty,"  sais  1,  "you  arc  generous  to  say  you  won't  forget  me, 
but  you  feel  more  grateful  on  account  of  your  pretty  boys  than 
yourself  You  see  light  breakin'  ahead  already  for  them — don't  be 
offended.     I  know  you  will  forget  both  me  and  my  name  too.'* 

*•  Never,  never,"  said  she,  with  great  emphasis ;  "  never,  as  long 
as  I  live.  What  makes  you  think  so  meanly  of  me?  I  think  you 
have  been  a  guardian  angel  sent  by  Providence." 

Well,  I  repeated  them  words,  "  guardian  angel,"  slow. 


70V. 


Patty 


"  The   very   same,"  said   I.     "  How  strange !   were 
Schneider?" 

"Yes  sir,"  she  said. 

"  A  guardian  angel,  sent  by  Providence,"  said  I.  "  Exactly ! 
that's  the  very  words  he  said  you  used.  It's  a  favourite  word  of 
yours;  and  yet  you  forgot  him." 

"  Forgot  who,  sir  ?  It's  a  false  accusation  ?  Forgot  who,  sir  ? 
Pray  do  tell  me?" 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "  I  was  in  England  last  year,  and  there  I  met  a 
man  who  told  me  a  capital  story  about  you.  He  larfed  ready  to  kill 
himself." 

"  I  am  much  obleeged  to  him,  I  am  sure,"  she  said,  with  a  toss 
of  her  head ;  "  he  is  welcome  to  his  good  story.  Who  was  he,  the 
impident  fellow  ?" 

"  He  said  he  was  travelling  once  on  the  Barrington  road,  the 
matter  of  some  years  ago  now,  in  his  waggon,  with  a  ftxst-trotting 
horse  he  had.  It  was  a  lonely  part,  of  the  road,  and  a  woman  mis- 
took him  for  a  doctor,  and  called  to  him  to  stop  and  advise  her  about 
her  children;  one  4iad  just  died  of  scarlet-fever,  and  two  others  were 
dangerously  ill.  Well,  while  he  was  talkin'  to  the  poor  woman,  ooe 
9* 


w 


-i f    . 


il 


:    'ii 


ir       n 


):i 


'|':i 
i^J 


138 


AN    OLD    FRIEND    WITH    A     NEW    FACE, 


of  the  most  beautiful  girls  he  ever  laid  eyes  on,  passed  by  on  foot.  A 
rael  clipper — tall,  straight,  well-built,  perhaps  cverly  tall,  plump  as 
a  partridge,  eyes  like  a  snappin'  turtle,  teeth  like  ivory,  lips  like — " 

"  Well,  never  mind  her  lips.     Who  was  she,  tell  me  quick  ?" 

"  Stop,"  sais  I,  "  till  I  get  this  plaguey  knife  open,  I  can't  talk 
unless  I  whittle.     Her  lips  were  so — " 

"Never  mind  her  lips." 

"  Well,  her  neck  and  bust — " 

"  Well,  never  mind  them ;  who  was  that  gall  ?  Who  did  he 
say  ?     I  think  I  know  what  he  is  at  now." 

"  *  Who  is  that  splendiferous  gall  V  said  he. 

"  He  didn't  say  no  such  thing,"  she  replied ;  "  them  is  embellish- 
ments of  your  own." 

" '  That,'  sais  she,  '  is  Patty  Schneider,  the  darter  of  old  Cap- 
ting  Schneider,  of  Roseway,  the  most  sponsible  man  in  these  parts.' 

"  Well,  arter  he  had  instructec'  the  poor  critter,  the  best  way  he 
could,  what  to  do  about  h:"  children— for  ho  was  a  man  that  by  trav- 
elling about  everywhere,  had  picked  up  a  little  of  everything  amost — 
and  encouraged  her  the  best  way  he  could,  he  proceeded  on  his  jour- 
ney; and  as  he  vvas  joggiu/  on,  he  thought  to  himself,  how  in  the 
world  did  that  beautiful  young  lady  get  across  them  places  in  the 
swamp,  where  the  Water  covers  the  road,  without  wettin'  her  shoes 
and  stockings  ?  She  must  have  taken  them  off,  and  waded  as  the 
snipes  do." 

"  I  didn't  do  nc  such  thing,"  she  said.    "  Oh  dear  !  oh  dear  ! 
think  I  should  have  been  talked  of  in  that  way  by  that  feller, 
too  bad,  I  declare,"  and  she  rested  hei  elbows  on  her  knees,  and  put 
her  hands  to  her  face.     "  Go  on,"  she  said,  "  what  else  did  he  say  ?" 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  arter  a  while  he  beard  the  screams  of  a  woman 
in  distress,  and  he  pushed  on,  and  he  saw  a  head  and  bonnet  stickin' 
out  of  the  -bog.  And  when  he  came  up,  the  water  was  across  the 
road ,  and  it  appeared  the  young  woman  that  had  passed  some  time 
afore,  in  tryin'  to  cross  over  on  a  fallen  tree  that  lay  there,  had  slip- 
ped off,  and  was  up  to  her  neck  in  the  quag,  and  would  have  sunk 
over  her  head,  if  she  hadn't  caught  hold  of  the  log  with  both  hands, 
and  was  screamin'  and  screachin'  for  dear  life." 

"  Well,  part  of  that  is  true,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  he  said  he  was  puzzled  to  know  what  to  do  next,  or  how 
in  the  world  to  get  ber  out,  for  fear  her  weight  would  pull  him  in 
head  first,  the  ground  was  so  slippery.  But  bracin'  one  foot  agin 
the  log,  and  the  other  agin  the  road,  he  stooped  his  head  close  do^-a 

arms  round 


To 

It's 


lift 


put  your 


my 


you  up. 


« ( 


can 


t,'  said  she.  '  If  I  let  go  my  hold,  I  shall  sink  out  of 
Right,  for  I  can't  touch  bottom  here,  and  my  strength  is  een  Vmost 
u  "Jne.' 


W 

:i:!i. 


AN  OLD  FRIEND  WITH  A  NEW  FACE. 


139 


*  Try/  said  he ;  '  put  one  arm  round  first,  and  I  will  hold  on  to 
it,  and  then  try  the  other,  and  if  you  can  hook  on  that  way  I  think 
I  can  haul  you  out/ 

"  Well,  arter  a  while,  she  was  a  huggin'  of  his  neck  instead  of 
the  log,  and  he  streighted  himself  up,  and  after  a  most  desperate  pull, 
fetched  up  the  upper  part  of  her ;  and  a  most  powerful  pull  it  was 
too,  the  bog  sucked  so  hard.  But  what  to  do  then,  he  didn't  know, 
for  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  take  a  fresh  hold  of  her,  and  there 
was  no  restin'-place  for  her  feet  to  help  him. 

"  '  How  much  more  of  you  is  there  left?'  sais  he;  and  he  couldn't 
help  larfin',  now  that  the  worst  was  over.  '  Take  a  higher  hold  of 
me,  and  I  will  take  a  lower  grip  of  you,  and  give  you  another  bouss 
up.' 

"  Oh  dear  I"  said  Mrs.  Potter  with  a  groan,  "  that  I  should  ever 
hear  of  this  again.  It  warnt  the  part  of  a  man  to  go  and  tell  of 
such  an  accident." 

"  Well,  he  gave  her  another  start,  and  out  she  came,  all  covered 
over  with  black  slime,  and  without  her  shoes,  for  the  suction  was  so 
great,  it  was  a  wonder  it  hadn't  drawn  her  feet  off  too.  *  Well,'  he 
said,  '  the  young  lady  thanked  him  kindly,  said  she  never  would  for- 
get him  the  longest  day  she  ever  lived,  he  had  been  sent  by  Provi- 
dence as  a  guardian-angel*  for  her  (the  very  words  you  used  to-day 
to  me),  and  that  he  replied  you  was  the  angel,  and  not  him ;  and 
that  these  two  angels  stood  in  the  road  there  for  a  few  seconds  all 
covered  with  black  mud,  dirty  sluime,  and  green  water,  exchangia' 
a  few  kisses  of  gratitude,  and  that  he  never  could  think  of  ''*  arter- 
wards  without  larfin,  it  was  so  droll  a  scene.' " 

• "  Did  he  now  actilly  say  all  that,  or  are  you  making  of  it  V 

"  Why  you  know  whether  it  is  true,  or  not;  is  that  correct?" 

"  Well,  it's  none  of  your  affair,  whether  it  is  or  not.  A  body  at 
Buch  a  time  could  hardly  say  what  they  did." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "he  wouldn't  be  much  of  a  man,  with  a  hand- 
some woman  in  his  arms,  and  her  face  rubbin'  agin  hisin  for  so  long 
a  time,  if  he  didn't  manage  to  let  the  lips  meet;  and  I  don't  think 
the  young  lady  would  have  acted  naterally  to  be  angry  —  at  least, 
that's  my  opinion.  But  the  worst  is  to  be  told  yet.  He  sais  it's  a 
pity  they  ever  met  again." 

"  They  never  did  meet  again,"  she  replied ;  "  I  never  sot  eyes  on 
him  from  that  day  to  this." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?" 

"  As  true,  Sir,  as  I  a*^  talking  to  you,.  I  never  saw  him,  and  never 
heard  of  him  since;  and  what's  more,  never  found  out  his  name." 

"  He  went  to  your  house  some  years  arterwards,  he  said,  but  you 
didn't  or  wouldn't  know  him.  Whether  you  was  af"«id  of  Mr.  Potter 
hearin'  it,  or  didn't  wish  to  recal  the  obligation  to  mind,  he  didn't 
kpow,  but  you  took  no  more  notice  of  him  than  any  other  stranger. 


140 


CHAT     IN     A     CALM, 


m 


»n  i 


^;i  . 


I 


:i|l 


■ii 


:;ui      ■■:i!Hi 


^1 


,1' 


:< 


i'H 


^:i 


He  felt  hurt,  I  assure  you.  lie  said  he  didn't  blame  you;  you 
might  have  had  your  reasons,  but  he  must  have  been  greatly  altered, 
if  you  had  really  forgoi  liiui  that  way." 

"I  tell  you,  >Sir,  lujnestly  and  fairly,  there  aint  a  word  of  truth 
in  saying,  I  didn't  know  him  again ;  for  I  tell  you  I  never  saw  hira 
afterwards." 

"  Oh  !  yes/'  sais  I ;  "  I  can  tell  you  time  and  place ;  I  can  bring 
it  to  your  mind  exactly." 

"  When  and  where  then  ?"  said  she. 

"  This  very  day,"  said  I,  "  in  your  own  house,  and  now  here.  I 
am  the  man ;  and  my  name  is  Sam  Slick,  the  Clockmaker." 


CHAPTER   XV. 
CHAT    IN   A   CALM. 

H  viNG  shipped  Mr.  Eldad  Nickerson  as  a  pilot,  and  Mr.  Peter 
Potter  as  a  "  hand,"  we  set  sail  for  the  settlement  at  Jordan.  Wo 
were  becalmed  off  the  entrance  of  the  river ;  and  as  we  lay  motion- 
less on  the  glassy  surface  of  the  sea,  we  found  ourselves  at  no  great 
distance  from  an  T^dian  encampment  on  the  extreme  point  of  the 
beach,  from  which  several  canoes  issued  in  pursuit  of  the  porposes, 
which  were  revelling  in  a  shoal  of  herring.  As  these  sleek,  alder- 
men-lookin'  fellows  rose  to  the  surface  in  their  roly-poly  sort  of  play, 
or  leapt  from  the  water  to  show  their  pretty  figures,  (for  even  fish 
pride  themselves  on  what  they  haint  got),  they  were  shot  at  by  the 
man  in  the  bow  of  the  canoe,  and  two  in  the  stern  paddled  with  all 
their  might  in  chase,  while  the  former  exchangf^d  his  gun  for  a  spear, 
and  stood  ready  to  strike  the  crittur,  and  draw  him  in  over  the  bows, 
a  slight  of  hand  that  nobody  but  an  Indian  could  perform  in  so  tot- 
lish  and  dapgerous  a  craft  as  a  bark-canoe.  The  first  fish  that  was 
pursued,  luo'  hit  by  the  ball,  escaped  the  spear,  dived,  and  disap- 
peared from  view. 

"Well  done,  feminine  gender,"  said  Eldad,  addresein'  himself  to 
the  cabin  party  on  the  after  part  of  the  deck,  "  well  done,  feminine 
gender,"  alludin'  to  the  porpose ;  "you  gave  Tony  Cope,  the  Indjin, 
the  dodge  that  time  any  hovv.  You  must  put  on  more  steam,  Tony, 
if  you  want  to  catch  them  ere  sea-going  craft ;  they  have  high-pres- 
sure engines  them  navvies,  and  never  burst  their  boilers  neither.  He 
had  better  a  gi'en  in  tho'  to  you  than  run  thro'  the  fleet,  as  sl;e  will 
have  to  do  now.  You  aint  half  such  a  savage,  Tony,  as  h^r  own 
seed  breed  and  generation  is  —  that's  my  logic  at  any  rate." 

"  How  can  you  tell  it's  a  female  porpoise  ?"  said  the  captain. 

"  Ay,"  said  I,  "  how  can  you  say  so  at  this  distance  ?' 


|ili;i:i 


CHAT     IN     A    CALM 


141 


"  "UHiat  will  ynn  hot  ?"  said  the  mate,  "  it's  a  slic  pnrpoiso  ?" 

"  Five  doliiirs,"  'Hi  the  pilot,  '•  Cover  them,"  holding  out  the 
lilvcr  coins  in  his  liuiid;  "cover  them,"  which  was  no  suouor  c!  ne 
Uian  lie  (juietly  put  ^heni  into  his  pocket. 

"  Who  shall  decide  ?"  paid  the  mate. 

"  I'll  leave  it  to  yourself,"  said  Eldad,  coolly.  "  I'll  take  your 
\wn  word  for  it,  that's  fair,  aint  it  ?" 

"  Well  it  is  so,  that's  a  fact." 

''Jump  overboard  then,  and  swim  oflF  and  see  if  I  aint  right." 
f  he  loud  laugh  of  the  mcii  who  hoard  the  catch,  rewarded  the  joke. 
"  But  here  is  your  money,"  he  said ;  "  I  know  it  to  be  fact,  and  a 
^et  is  only  fair  when  there  is  a  chance  of  losin',  that's  my  logic,  at 
Any  rate." 

"How  do  }ou  know  it  then?"  said  the  skipper. 

"Because  it  stands  to  reason,  to  natur'  and  to  logic." 

"  W^ell,  come,"  said  the  captain,  "let  us  sit  down  here  and  see 
liow  jcj  rrove  the  gender  of  the  fish  by  reason,  natur'  and  logic?" 

"^Yv.  '  paid  Eldad,  "there  is  natur'  in  all  things.  Among 
hum.,  .'::  .mjre  is  three  kinds,  white  natur',  nigger  natur',  and  Indjin 
natur' ;  then  there  is  fish  natur',  and  horse  natur',  mosquito  natur', 
and  snakes  natur',  and  he  natur',  and  she  natur',  at  least  that's  my 
logic.  Well,  it's  the  natur'  of  porpoirses,  when  a  she  one  gets 
wounded,  that  all  the  other  porpoirses  race  right  arter  her,  and  chase 
her  to  death.  They  show  her  no  marcy.  Human  natur'  is  the  same 
ts  fish  natur'  in  this  partieler,  and  is  as  scaly  too.  When  a  woman 
^et  a  wound  from  an  arrow  shot  out  by  scandal,  or  envy,  or  malice, 
or  falsehood,  for  not  keeping  her  eye  on  the  compass,  and  shapin' 
her  course  as  she  ought  to,  men,  women,  and  boys,  parsons,  and  their 
tea-goin'  gossipin'  wives,  pious  galls  and  prim  old  maids,  all  start  off 
m  full  cry  like  r.  pack  of  bloodhounds  arter  her,  and  tear  her  to 
pieces;  and  if  sVj  "M'-ths,  and  has  the  luck  to  get  safe  into  a  hole 
fust,  they  howl  us!  '  ^'i  round  it  every  time  she  shows  her  no.se,  like 
EO  many  imps  tI  •  \i^  'ss.  It's  the  race  of  charity,  to  see  which 
long-legged,  cantin  ,  i'  .oi;.-;-lookin'  crittur  can  be  in  first  at  the  death. 
They  turn  up  the  white  oi  their  eyes  like  ducks  in  thunder,  at  a  fox- 
hunt, it's  so  wicked  J  but  a  gall-hunt  they  love  dearly,  it's  '  servin* 
the  Lord.'" 

"But  that  still  don't  prove  it's  a  female  porpoise,"  said  Cutler 

"Yes  it  does,''  replied  Eldad;  "they  darn't  sarve  a  man  that 
way;  if  they  get  up  a  hunt  on  him,  he  don't  run,  ho  shows  fight; 
he  turns  round,  and  says,  'Come,  m  one  at  a  time,  and  I'll  handle 
you,  or  two  V(  ■  her,  if  yon  like,  you  cowards,  or  all  in  a  heap,  /ind 
I'll  fight  till  1  \.  ,  but  I  won't  run;'  that's  he-natur,  you  seo.  Now 
if  the  wounded  porpoise  was  a  male,  wouldn't  he  turn  al.so,  butt 
with  his  head,  and  thrash  with  his  tail,  like  a  brave  fellon'  ?  he'd  a 
seen  'em  shot  and  speared  first,  afore  he'd  run.     No,  the  natur'  of  a 


rr 


ill! 


14? 


CHAT    IN    A    CALM, 


wounded  gall  and  a  wounded  she-porperse  is  to  run  for  it ;  so  that 
fish  is  foniiiiine-gendcr,  according  to  my  logic.  And  now,  captiu," 
he  continued,  "  I  reckon  it  would  ho  as  well  to  order  the  boat  out, 
and  we  will  give  the  *  Black  Hawk'  a  pull  a  few  hundred  yards 
further  out.  She  is  driftin'  too  near  that  point,  and  the  water  shoals 
rapidly  there  j  an  ounce  of  precaution  is  worth  a  pound  of  cure,  at 
least,  that's  my  logic." 

"  All  right,"  said  Cutler.  "  Mate,  attend  to  the  orders  of  tbo 
pilot." 

While  this  little  operation  was  being  performed,  the  skipper  and 
I  paced  the  deck,  and  discoursed  on  tlie  subject  of  the  pilot's  ana- 
logy between  female, porpoises  and  women. 

"  Is  it  true,  IMr.  Slick,"  said  he,  "  that  mankind  shows  so  little 
charity  to  a  woman  who  is  so  unfortunate  as  to  attract  observation  ? 
I  have  moved  so  little  in  the  world,  I  i^s  not  aware  of  it,  altho'  I 
know  Scott  says : 

"  *  And  ev'ry  fault  a  to'ir  cju.      tira, 
Except  ail  erring  sister's  shame.'  " 

"It  is  a  melancholy  truth,"  said  T;  "/7  is  cowardice  in  man,  and 
cruelty  in  teotnan.  It  is  the  worst  trait  in  human  natur',  and  the 
most  remarkable  ftict  is,  that  women  whose  conduct  is  not  altog-ether 
free  from  blame,  are  the  loudest  in  their  outcry.  They  yelp  shriller 
than  if  they  was  hit  themselves.  It  is  a  bad  .sign.  A  icoman  who 
ivants  a  charitable  hatrt,  icantA  a  pare  mind.  The  measure  of  a 
female* s  judgment  must  be  her  oini  feelings;  and  if  she  judges 
harshly,  her  feelings  are  not  ddieatr.  llcr  experience  is  her  own, 
and  if  that  is  adverse,  it  ought  at  least  to  impose  silence.  Innocence 
is  not  suspicious,  but  guilt  is  alwai/s  ready  to  turn  informer.  But 
here  is  the  pilot;  he  is  an  odd  chap,  aint  he?  and  a  bit  of  a  hu- 
mourist, too.  That  fellow  will  amuse  us  when  we  have  nothiu' 
to  do." 

When  Eldad  resumed  his  place,  I  took  up  the  conversation  where 
he  had  left  it. 

"If  the  female  creation,"  said  I,  "  Mr.  Nickerson,  suffer  parsecu- 
tion  sometimes,  particularly  women,  perhaps  it's  as  like  as  not  they 
haint  been  prudent;  but  sonietin)os  they  give  it  to  the  males  pro- 
perly, you  may  depend ;  and  they  aint  without  defence,  neither.  If 
a  woman  aint  able  for  a  stand-up  fight,  and  her  little  hand  aint  no 
good  to  box,  her  tiny  fingers  can  clapper,  claw,  and  scratchj  like 
thorns,  and  Hay  a  man  alive  amost." 

"Exactly,"  said  Eldad;  ''they  attend  meetin'  oftner  nor  men, 
and  have  the  ten  commandments  at  their  fingers^  ends." 

"Oh!  Mr.  Nickerson,"  said  Cutler,  "that's  very  irreverent." 

"  And  then  natur'  has  given  her  a  tongue,"  sais  I,  "  so  loose  and 
iley  on  its  hinge,  it's  the  nearest  thing  in  creati(»n  to  perpetual  mo- 


CHAT    IN    A    CALM. 


143 


•sation  where 


icr  nor  men, 


tion.  Oh  !  if  over  you  was  in  a  fish-market  to  London,  you'd  hear 
'em  use  it  in  perfection  !  Don't  the  words  come  easy,  and  such 
words,  too,  no  livin'  soul  ever  heerd  afore;  not  jaw-breakin'  words, 
such  as  black  gentlemen  use  to  show  their  kncwludge  of  dictionary, 
but  heart-breakin'  words,  not  heavy,  thick,  and  stinging.  Why  they 
call  a  feller  more  names  in  a  niinnit  than  would  sarve  half  the  Spa- 
nish grandees,  and  one  of  them  chap's  names  covers  the  whole  out- 
side (.1  a  letter,  and  hardly  leave  room  for  th.  place  of  direction  at 
the  .>end  of  it.  Pretty  names  they  use,  too,  do  those  fish-women, 
only  they  have  a  leetle — just  a  leetle  —  taint  about  'em,  and  ajnt 
(juite  as  sweet  as  stale  fish.  There  never  was  a  man  yet  could  stand 
them.  Well,  if  they  can't  fight,  and  are  above  slang,  and  scorn 
scoldin',  they  can  tease  beautiful,  and  drive  a  man  ravin*  dis- 
tracted mad. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  horse  race  and  chase,  tear  and  bang,  jump 
and  kick,  moan  and  groan,  round  and  round,  over  and  over  a  paster', 
with  his  mouth  open,  his  nostrils  spread  wide,  his  eyes  starin',  his 
tail  up,  his  body  all  covered  with  foam,  and  ho  ready  to  drop  down 
dead'/  Well,  that  great  big  critter  aint  hurt,  he  is  only  teased; 
touched  on  the  fiank,  and  then  in  the  ear,  tickled  where  the  skin  is 
thiu,  and  stung  where  it  is  off.  Why  it's  nothin'  after  all,  that  does 
that,  but  a  teasin',  tormentin'  hornet;  you  couldn't  do  it  yourself 
with  a  whip,  if  you  was  to  die  for  it.  Well,  a  joman  can  sarve  a 
man  the  same  way;  a  sly  little  jibe  here,  another  touch  there,  now 
on  his  pride,  then  on  his  faults,  here  on  his  family,  there  on  his 
friends,  and  then  a  little  accidental  slip  o'  the  tongue,  done  on  pur- 
pose, that  reaches  the  jealous  spot;  away  the  poor  critter  goes  at  that 
last  sting,  he  can't  stand  it  no  more;  he  is  furious,  and  throws  down 
his  hat,  and  kicks  it  (he  can't  kick  her,  that  aint  manly),  and  roars 
and  bellows  like  a  bull,  till  he  can't  utter  no  more  words,  and  then 
off  he  goes  to  cool  his  head  by  drivin'  himself  into  a  fever. 

"Oh!  beautiful  play  that;  you  may  talk  of  playin'  a  salmon  artcr 
he  is  hooked,  and  the  sport  of  seein'  him  jump  clean  out  of  the 
water  in  his  struggles,  a-racin'  off  and  being  snubbed  again,  and 
reeled  up,  till  he  is  almost  bagged,  when  dash,  splash,  he  makes 
another  spring  for  it,  and  away  he  goes  as  hard  as  he  can  lick,  and 
out  runs  the  line,  whirr-rr !  and  then  another  hour's  play  afore  he 
gives  in. 

"Well,  it's  grand,  there's  no  doubt.  It's  very  excitin';  but  what 
is  that  sport  to  seein'  a  woman  play  her  husband  ?  The  wife,  too,  is 
just  such  another  little  gaudy-lookin'  fly  as  that  which  the  salmon 
was  fool  enough  to  be  houked  with,  and  got  up  just  as  nateral.  Oh  ! 
how  I  have  watched  one  of 'em  afure  now  at  that  game!  Don't  she 
enjoy  it,  the  little  dear,  smilin'  all  the  time  like  an  angel,  most 
Dewitchin'  sweet;  bright,  little  eyes,  sparklin'  like  diamonds,  and 
lier  teeth  lookin'  so  white,  and  her  face  so  composed,  and  not  a 


i      ! 


ii 


144 


CHAT    IN    A    CALM, 


I 

til 


I 


breath  to  heave  her  beautiful  bosoiu,  or  swell  her  allerbaster  neck, 
but  as  quiet  and  as  gontle  throughout  as  one  of  the  graces;  and  her 
Words  so  sweet,  all  honey,  and  usin'  such  endettriu'  names  too,  you'd 
think  she  was  courtiu'  amost.  ]^ut  the  honey  makes  the  words 
stick,  and  the  fond  names  co'ver  a  sting,  and  some  phrases  that  are 
BO  kind  have  a  hidden  meaning  that  makes  poor  hubby  jump  right 
on  cend,  and  when  he  roars  with  pain  and  rage,  she  lays  down  her 
pencil  or  her  embroidery,  and  looks  up  in  surprise,  for  she  was  occu- 
pied before,  and  didn't  notice  nothin'.  Oh !  what  a  look  of  asto- 
nishment she  puts  on. 

"  <  Why  my  dearest  love,'  sais  she,  'what  is  the  matter  with  you, 
aint  you  well?  How  wild  you  look  I  Has  anything  excited  you? 
Is  there  anything  in  the  world  I  can  do  for  you  V 

"  He  can't  stand  it  no  longer,  so  he  bolts.  As  soon  as  he  is  gone, 
the  little  cherub  wife  lays  back  her  head  and  smiles. 

"  '  Succumb  is  a  charming  man,  Mr.  Siiek,  and  one  of  the  kindest 
and  best  husbands  in  the  world,  only  he  is  a  little  touchy  and  hasty- 
tempered  sometimes,  don't  you  think  so  ?' 

"  And  then  she  goes  on  as  cool  as  if  nothin'  had  happened,  but 
caste  round  for  a  chance  to  let  go  and  laugh  out.     So  she  says  — 

"  '  Pray,  Mr.  Slick,  do  tell  me  what  sort  of  folks  the  Bluenoses 
are.  Is  it  true  the  weather  is  so  cold  there,  that  their  noses  are  blue 
all  winter  ?     Bluenoses  ?  wh-it  a  funny  name  !' 

"  That's  the  chance  she  was  looking  for,  and  then  she  indulges  in 
a  laugh  so  hearty,  so  clear,  so  loud  and  so  merry,  you'd  think  her 
heart  was  so  full  of  joy,  it  required  that  safety-valve  to  keep  it  from 
bustin'. 

"  Oh !  I'd  rather  see  a  man  played  than  a  salmon  anytime,  and  if 
women  are  bad-used  sometimes,  and  can't  help  themselves  in  a  gen- 
eral • '  )y,  I  guess  they  are  more  than  a  match  for  the  men  in  the 
long  run.  But  I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  the  seals  down  Sable 
Island.  They  come  ashore  there  every  now  and  agin  to  dry  their 
jackets,  blow  off  steam,  and  have  a  game  of  i'omps ;  and  what  do 
you  think  them  roguish,  coquettish,  tonuentin'  imj.3  of  she  ones  do? 
Why,  they  just  turn  to  and  drive  all  the  old  buifers,  fathers,  hus- 
bands, wrinklo*!  bachelors,  and  guardian  uncles,  further  inland,  and 
there  they  make  them  stay  by  themselves,  while  they  and  the  young 
gentlemen,  beaux  seals  ogle,  and  flirt,  and  romp  about  like  anything 
close  to  the  water,  where  they  can  give  them  the  dodge  if  they  get 
obstreperous.  It  would  make  you  die  a  larfiu,  if  you  was  to  see  hov? 
sulky  the  old  fellers  look,  a-wipin'  their  ugly  mug)^  with  their  paws, 
showing  their  teeth,  at  least  what  is  left  of  them,  and  gruntin'  and 
growliu'  like  politicians  kicked  out  of  office.  I  believe,  in  my  soul, 
thoy  put  th(un  there  a-purpose  to  get  rid  of  them  altogether  j  for 
when  the  hunters  come,  they  rush  right  in  between  them  young 
assembly-men  and  them  old  senators,  and  attack  the  big  boys  with 


i!l! 


CHAT     IN     A     CALM, 


145 


llerbaster  neck, 
;races;  and  her 
auiGs  too,  you'd 
ilcGS  the  words 
hrases  that  are 
bby  juuip  right 
I  lays  down  her 
r  she  was  occu- 
a  look  of  asto- 

latter  with  you, 
ig  excited  you  ? 

Q  as  he  is  gone, 

e  of  the  kindest 
ichy  and  hasty- 

1  happened,  but 
3  she  says  — 
3  the  Bluenoses 
r  noses  are  blue 

she  indulges  in 
ou'd  think  her 
to  keep  it  from 

mytirac,  and  if 
Ives  in  a  gen- 
0  men  in  the 
3  down  Sable 
;in  to  dry  their 
and  what  do 
she  ones  do  ? 
•s,  fathers,  bus- 
ier inland,  and 
and  the  young 
like  anything 
igc  if  they  get 
as  to  see  how 
th  their  paws, 
d  gruntin'  and 
c,  in  my  soul, 
iltogother;  for 
,  them  young 
big  boys  with 


'i 


■i 


great  heavy-loaded  pticks,  and  tumble  them  over  quick  stick,  and 
then  the  young  ones  just  take  a  dive  fur  it,  and  enjoy  the  joke  in 

safety. 

"Perhaps  all  natur  can't  show  such  a  soft,  lovely,  liquid  eye  as  a 
young  lady  seal.  It  seems  as  if  flirtin',  coquettin',  ogliu',  roinpiu', 
and  larkin',  was  just  what  this  was  made  for.  Yes,  yes,  natur 
balances  all  things  admirably,  and  has  put  the  sexes  and  every  indi- 
vidual of  each  on  a  par.  Them  that  have  more  than  their  share  of 
one  thin;/,  iommonli/  have  less  of  another.  Where  there  is  great 
stremjtli.  fli<'rr  aint  apt  to  hr.  much  gximption.  A  handsome  man  in 
a  qln^'rdl  "'(ij/  aint  much  of  a  man*  A  beautiful  bird  seldom 
sin(/s.  Th(ni  that  hax  genius  have  no  common  sense.  A  feller  with 
one  idcii  grows  rich,  while  he  who  calls  him  a  fool  dies  poor.  The 
world  'is  like  a  bakcd-meat  2yic  •'  the  npper  C7'ust  is  rich,  dry,  and 
pnfj'i/ ;  the  lower  crust  is  hqavy,  doughy,  and  binder  dove.  The  middle 
is  not  bad  generally,  but  the  smallest  part  of  all  is  that  which  fla- 
vours the  whole. ^' 

"Well,  that  are  a  fact,"  said  the  Pilot;  "at  least,  that's  my 
logic." 

"  Now,  S(|uire,  I  am  going  to  give  you  my  ideas  of  the  femininr, 
gender  in  general.  I  flatter  myself  I  know  somethin'  about  them. 
As  usual,  1  suppose  you  will  say  '  You  do  flatter  yourself;  it's  a  bit 
of  your  Yankee  brag.'  Well,  I  am  a  modest  man,  as  I  always  say, 
when  I  know  what  I  am  a-talkin'  about ;  and  if  I  am  wrong,  per- 
haps you  will  set  me  right.  Now,  I  do  say,  I  know  somethiu'  of 
women.  I  aint  a  scientitlc  man.  I  warn't  brought  up  to  it;  and 
you  never  heard  me  talk  professor-liko ;  but  I  have  studied  the  great 
book  of  human  natur,  and  have  got  it  at  my  fingers'  ends,  as  dear 
old  minister  had  his  bible.  I  can  quote  chapter  and  varse  for  all  I 
say.  I  read  this  book  continually;  it's  my  delight:  and  I  won't 
turn  my  back  on  any  one,  when  he  talks  of  that.  I  haint  travelled 
for  nothin',  I  haint  listened  for  nothin',  I  haint  used  a  magnifyin' 
glass  for  nothin',  and  I  haint  meditated  for  nothin'.  Now,  femalea 
1  divide  into  three  classes  :  first,  petticoat  angels ;  second,  women ; 
and  third,  devils.  Petticoat  angels  there  are,  beyond  all  doubt,  the 
most  exalted,  the  most  pure,  the  most  pious,  the  most  lovin',  the 
most  devoted ;  and  these  angels  are  in  low  degree  as  well  as  high ; 
thoy  aint  confined  to  no  station  —  prizes  that  clockmakers  as  well  as 
princes  may  draw.  Is  that  Yankee  brag?  Well,  then,  there  is 
women.  Well,  women  commonly  are  critters  of  a  mixed  character, 
in  gineral  more  good  than  bad  about  'em,  by  a  long  chalk  (for  men 
don't  do  'cm  justice  in  talkiu   of  'em),  but  spoiled  like  lilloys  in 

*  That  ?i pro'tijwvMX  has  sehloia  much  tn  rcooianiond  him  Ix^yond  Iii;-;  jrooil 
looks,  was  a  favourite  maxim  of  Martial.  On  one  ouca.'^idii  lie  calls  liim  a 
Btony  affair — "Res  pctricosa  ost  bellus  bellus  homo;"  and  on  another,  a 
weak  man — "  Qui  bellus  homo  est,  Cotta,  pusillus  homo  est." 


w 


i 


'3« 


i 


y 


I  rii 


.(! 


^     • 


146 


CHAT    IN     A     CALM 


trainin'.  The  mouth  is  liard  from  being  broke  with  too  small  a  bit, 
or  their  temper  ruined  by  being  punished  when  they  don't  desarve 
it,  or  ontrue  by  being  put  to  work  they  e.m't  stand,  or  aint  fitted  by 
natur  for.  Thivc  iic.vcr  vns  a  i/ixul  husbmul  that  icarn't  a  ijood 
Jwrseman,  for  the  natur  of  the  rrittors  is  just  alike.  You  must  be 
gentle,  kind,  and  patient,  but  you  must  be  firm,  and  when  there  is  a 
fight  for  mastery,  just  show  'em  it's  bettor  not  to  act  foolish.  Unless 
a  critter  is  too  old,  and  too  headstrong,  it's  a  man's  own  fault  if  ho 
can't  manage  to  make  'em  travel  tlie  road  pleasantly.  Is  there  any 
Yankee  brag  in  that'/ 

"  "Well,  then,  there  are  the  devils.  AVell,  some  kick;  don't  put 
'em  in  harness  agin,  that's  all;  they  are  apt  to  cut  their  little  pas- 
terns, and  hurt  your  little  gig.  Some  stop,  and  won't  go.  Treat 
'em  as  I  did  a  boss  once  who  wouldn't  draw  up  hill.  I  set  off  from 
Slickville  once  with  a  regular  devil  to  put  her  through  her  facin's 
at  three  o'clock  in  tiie  mornin',  and  took  books,  and  cigars,  and  my 
dinner  with  me,  to  be  ready  for  //taction,  as  it  was  fine  weather. 

"  Well,  two  miles  from  hum  was  a  iiigh  hill,  and  as  usual  my 
boss  stopped  short,  lay  back  in  the  brecehin,  and  wouldn't  budge  an 
inch.  She  thought  she  was  a-goin'  to  have  a  regular-built  frolic, 
and  I  intended  she  should.  8 he  whisked  her  tail,  laid  back  her 
ears,  and  looked  wi(.-ked,  a-thiukin'  the  more  you  wallop  me,  th< 
more  i  won't  go;  and  I'll  upset  you,  and  break  a  shaft  if  I  can 
but  she  didn't  know  what  was  in  store  for  her. 

"  *  Don't  you  hope  you  may  get  the  chance  ?'  sais  I. 

"So  I  threw  down  the  reins,  lit  my  cigar,  and  began  to  read,  and 
took  no  more  notice  of  her  than  if  she  was  in  the  stable.  When 
twelve  o'clock  came,  she  looked  round  as  much  as  to  say,  if  you  aint 
a-goin'  to  fight,  will  you  make  friends,  old  boy  ?  Well,  I  took  no 
notice,  as  much  as  to  say,  go  to  the  devil ;  eat  my  dinner,  and  I 
turned  to  again,  and  began  to  read.  Well,  as  the  sun  was  goin* 
down,  she  began  to  get  dreadful  oneasy  and  fidgctty,  and  to  put  one 
foot  before  the  other,  but  I  stopped  her,  and  called  out,  'whoh  !'  At 
last  she  got  very  impatient,  but  I  held  on  till  she  should  take  the 
woid  from  me.  Finally,  I  took  up  the  reins,  gave  her  a  lick  of  the 
whip,  and  away  she  went  up  the  hill,  as  if  she  smelt  oats  at  the  top 
of  it;  and  to  show  her  what  a  fool  she  was,  I  drove  her  twenty 
miles  right  straight  on  eeud  afore  I  hauled  up.  She  never  baulked 
at  a  hill  again. 

"Well,  this  is  more  trouble  than  they  are  worth  amost;  another 
time,  but  we  won't  foller  it  up ;  it's  too  long  a  story  to  illustrate  in 
that  way.  Some  want  to  race  off.  Well,  a  boss  that  has  onct  run 
away  in  harness,  will  always  do  it  again  when  it  gets  a  chance — slip 
the  bridle  over  their  head,  and  let  them  go  to  old  scratch ;  they  aint 
worth  follering.  Is  that  Yankee  brag  ?  Well,  perhaps,  it  is.  Give 
me  your  Blue-nose  brag  now.     I  say,  petticoat  angels,  women,  and 


I^M!,    , 


THE    SABLE     ISLAND    OlIOST, 


147 


•■i- 


devils.  Now  what  is  your  division  ?  You  arc  a  College  man,  and 
I  aiut;  you  are  a  province  man,  and  I  am  a  man  of  the  world, 
which,  thu'  it  aint  quite  us  big  as  Nova  Scotiu,  is  big  enough  for  the 
likes  of  me.  I  know  your  Halifax  notions.  You  will  say  high  and 
low,  genteel  or  vulgar,  rich  or  poor.  You  are  wrong.  Squire,  a 
woman  may  be  high  and  vulgar,  and  there  may  be  a  person  not  quite 
so  common,  but  far  above  her,  and  worth  a  thousand  such  cattle, 
called  a  '  poor  lady.'  If  she  is  an  angel — and  I  maintain  there  are 
Buch — doas  is  writ  in  the  marriagc-sarvice,  'with  my  body  I  theo 
worship.'  If  she  is  a  womi;n,  say,  '  with  this  caveson  and  halter  I 
thee  break.'  If  she  is  a  devil,  lead  her  to  the  door,  take  the  bit  out 
out  of  her  mouth,  and  say,  '  I'll  make  a  fair  division  of  the  house 
with  yon;  I'll  take  the  inside,  and  do  you  take  the  outside,  now  cut 
and  run,  and  be  hanged  to  you.'  Now,  Squire,  as  Eldad  says,  that's 
ray  logic  at  any  rate." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


THE    SABLE    ISLAND    GHOST, 


"Talking  of  the  Isle  of  Sable,"  said  Cutler,  '^did  you  ever 
land  there?  I  should  like  amazin'ly  to  visit  it.  I  have  seen  it  in 
the  distance,  but  never  could  spare  time  to  go  on  shore.  What  an 
interesting  place  it  must  be,  from  the  melancholy  accidents  that  have 
occurred  there." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  have  been  there,  and  it's  just  what  you  say, 
filled  with  solemncoly  interest.  The  cause  and  occasion  of  my  goin' 
there  was  rather  a  droll  story.  Onct  when  I  was  to  Halifax,  the 
captain  of  the  cutter  said  to  me  : 

"'Mr.  Slick,'  said  he,  'I'm  off  to  Sable  Island.  What  do  you 
say  to  takin'  a  trip  down  there  ?  We  are  to  have  a  wild-hoss  chase, 
and  that's  great  sport.     Come,  what  do  you  say  ?' 

" '  Well,'  sais  I,  '  I'm  most  afeerd  to  go." 

"  '  Afeerd  !'  said  he,  '  I  thought  you  was  afeerd  of  nothin  ?  We 
always  go  to  the  leeward  side  of  the  island,  and  we  will  whisk  you 
thro'  the  surf,  without  so  much  as  sprinklin'  of  your  jacket.' 

"  '  Oh,'  sais  I,  '  it  aint  thr.t.  I  am  not  afeerd  of  surfs  or  breakers, 
or  anything  of  that  kind.  A  man  like  me  that  has  landed  at  Cal- 
cait?v  needn't  fear  anything.  I  rather  guess  I  could  teach  you  a 
dodge  or  two  about  surf  you  aint  up  to,  tho'  you  do  go  there  so 
of"  n.' 

"Well,'  sais  he,  'what  are  you  afeerd  on  then ?'  and  I  saw  him 


i: 


I' 
11}    ;  r 


,  1 


i  • 


I 

i 


< 


fir 


"I 

1-4  'I 

If'  • 

'I  1 


ii"! 


148 


THE     K  A  n  L  i:    ISLAND     O  II  O  S  T , 


m    \\:. 


Il'l     !' 


give  a  wini:  to  one  of  tlio  commissioners,  as  much  as  to  say,  'Lat  w 
rig  him. 

"  '  ^Vhy,'  suin  T,  'c;ip.iii,  our  fishermen  don't  mind  the  treaty  a  hit 
more  than  a  governor's  [irot'lumalion,  and  just  fish  where  they  please, 
and  trade  in  any  liarljour  fliey  lilvo,  and  now  and  tlien  you  nab  (me 
of  them  for  it.  .Now  I  wouhin't  like  to  ho  on  board  of  you,  when 
you  tried  to  seize  a  vessel  under  our  Everlastin'  Hag.  It  wouldn't 
look  pretty,  nor  sound  pretty.  I  should  have  to  jump  on  boiird  of  our 
craft,  and  turn  to  and  capture  the  cutter,  take  her  up  to  Bostin'  and  get 
her  condemned,  and  thnt  wouldn't  convene.  If  you  succeeded,  and 
me  in  your  company,  1  couldn't  return  home;  and  if  1  was  to  assist 
my  brother  Jonathans,  T  couldn't  return  hero;  and,  besides,  I  like 
to  let  every  feller  grind  his  own  axe.  If  it  warn't  for  that,  it's  just 
the  thing  1  do  like.' 

"  '  Well,'  said  he,  *  don't  be  skecr'd  ;  I  go  straight  there  and  back. 
I  aint  on  a  cruise,  and  Sable  Island  don't  want  cutters  to  frighten 
away  intruders.  It's  dangerous  enough  of  itself  to  keep  folks  off, 
who  know  what's  what.  I'll  tell  you  wdiat,  if  ever  you  saw  that 
are  island  when  the  sea  was  wratliy,  and  heard  the  roar  of  tho 
breakers  on  the  outer  bar,  one  slu^et  of  foam  twenty-five  miles  long, 
stretching  away  up  into  the  air  like  a  snow-wreath  in  a  whirlwind, 
you'd  think  you  seed  old  Neptune's  head  o'  white  hair,  and  whiskers, 
and  heard  him  call  up  all  hands  on  deck  to  shorten  sail.  The  island, 
which  is  a  long  narrow  sand-strip,  when  it's  lashed  by  the  mountain 
waves,  trembles  agin,  as  if  it  had  the  ague;  and  you  can't  help 
thiukin',  the  fust  time  you  I'eol  it,  that  tiie  sand  will  give  to  thostf 
everlastin'  blows,  separate,  and  ))e  swept  away  to  leeward.  The  fusl 
night  I  spent  there  in  a  gale,  I  felt  a  deuced  sight  more  streaked 
than  ever  I  did  on  board  ship  in  a  hunicano.' 

"  '  Yes,'  said  I,  fancyin'  he  was  a  tryin'  the  temper  of  my  narves, 
*it  must  have  been  grand.' 

"The  fact  is,  I  .I'dn't  jist  altogether  like  the  look  of  his  face, 
when  I  said  I  was  afeerd  to  go,  nor  his  sly  wiidj  nother;  they 
Boemed  as  if  they  kinder  m^nnt  he  thought  I  was  cowardly;  and 
then  I  didn't  like  all  that  bunkum  about  old  Neptune,  and  the  ter- 
rors of  the  storm,  and  so  on;  it  sounded  braggy;  so  I  thought  I'd 
just  clap  on  all  steam,  and  go  ahead  of  him,  for  whoever  gets  to 
windward  of  me  had  better  try  it  on  a  river,  or  a  harbour  in  a  sloop- 
rigged  clipper,  have  his  mainsail  cut  as  flat  as  a  board,  luff  idl  he 
can,  hold  on  to  all  he  gets,  and  mind  his  weather  eye.  I  don't  cal- 
culate in  a  giueral  way  to  have  the  wind  taken  out  of  my  sails.  *  k50, 
gais  I  (and  in  them  days  I  was  a  pretty  extravagant  feller  to  talk 
when  1  felt  dandery,  I  tell  you),  '  so,'  sais  f,  '  I  hope  there  will  be  a 
ripper  there,  a  regular  ring-tailed  roarer,  the  night  I  land  on  tho 
island.  Then  if  a  feller  was  to  jump  bare-backed  on  his  imagiaar 
tion,  throw  away  the  reins,  dig  in  the  spurs — ' 


hill' 


THE    SABLE    ISLAND     GHOST. 


149 


land  the  ter- 


'<  <  Yon  needn't  do  that,'  said  ho  ;  '  there  are  three  hundred  wild 
hos«es  there;  cat.h  one  o'  thcin  in  th(^  stonn,  and  race  (dl',  if  you 
have  a  faney  for  that  sort  o'  j-^cuddin'  afore  the  wind  witii  hare  poles,' 

"  '  Exactly  *  sais  I,  '  I'm  your  man.  liaise  the  wind  till  it  blows 
a  tornado,  catch  me  a  hoss,  and  .start  nie  off  at  midnight,  wind 
huwlin',  hreakcr.s  roariu',  thunder  crnsliin',  lightnin'  flashin',  and 
nie  a  whoopiu'  and  yellin'  like  an  Tnd^ian  devil,  and  if  there  is  any 
echo,  raise  sounds  like  distant  voices  of  unburied  thousands  that  lio 
hid  in  those  shallows;  it  would  wake  the  dead,  n)ake  the  wracks 
start  once  n)ore  from  their  sandy  beds,  and  sink  again  with  a  ker- 
wuUup,  like  crocodiles  junipin'  in  the  river,  or  a  steamer  goin'  down 
>f|uensh.  Here's  at  you,  v]d  boy;  I'm  your  man.  Here's  for  a 
glinst-ridcr's  gallop  over  skulls,  skeletons,  and  skippers;  a  midnight 
lark  to  scare  the  wild  bosses,  scatter  the  r:ii)bits  and  rats,  and  make 
tlic  owls  stare.  I'll  outrun  you,  outsereeeh  you,  and  outyell  you,  for 
u  ten  mile  heat  for  li\'<'  hundred  dollars.  Come,  what  do  you  say  to 
that  stump '/'  are  you  brought  to  a  hack?' 

"  '  I  wouldn't  run  a  race  of  a  mile,'  s-ud  he,  '  at  midnight,  on  that 
onconsecratid  grave-yard,  for  a  thousand  pounds.  I  am  a  sailor,  and 
I  respect  the  dead.' 

"Oh,  ho!  sais  [  tu  niysidf,  I  have  cooled  you,  have  I?  Who  in 
ufeerd  now? 

"'  AnJ  let  mo  tell  you,  too,'  said  he,  'it's  a  laud  of  spirits.' 

"The  fact  was,  he  was  superstitious. 

" '  I  could  tell  you  some  ghost  stories  that  I  know  to  bo  true,  that 
would  make  yev.r  hair  stand  on  eend.  Did  you  ever  h^ar  of  Lr. 
Copeland's  lady  that  appeared  to  the  brave  Captaiu  Torreus,  of  the 
29th  llegiuient  of  the  Jiritish  •irmy%  or  the  Paris  gentlenuin,  that 
appears  ahvays  to  v^racked  Frenchmen,  and  complains  of  Henry  the 
Fourth  of  France,  for  takin'  his  wife  and  bauishin'  him  there  with 
a  lot  of  convicts,  so  long  ago  as  1508?  or  the  old  regieitle  that  used 
it  as  a  hid;n'-[)lace,  and  lived  and  died  there  ?  and  on  the  liOth  of  May. 
when  Charles  the  First  was  beheaded,  marches  about  with  a  broad- 
brimmed  hut  on,  carries  a  drawn  sword,  and  sings  psalms  through 
his  nose  so  loud  you  can  hear  him  above  the  storm  ?" 

"'No,'  sais  1,  'I  should  like  to  sec  that  man  amazin'ly.  Our 
country  was  settled  by  i'urilans,  and  1  would  give  anything  to  know 
what  sort  of  critters  they  were  arter  all,  and  ask  some  questions  to 
clear  up  history.  Oh  I  time  it  so  as  to  be  there  on  the  29th.  If  I 
CMuld  only  see  that  sainted  sinner,  talk  to  him,  get  his  name,  see  hia 
dress,  and  hear  his  lingo,  I'd  make  a  fortiu'  out  of  the  critter.'' 

" '  Well,  well,'  said  he,  "  come  with  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  all 
these  stories  to  pass  time.' 

"  '  Done  !'  sais  I,  I'm  your  man.     I'd  rather  raise  that  old  regi- 
cide than  raise  a  treasure  ship.     Hurrah  for  Sable  Island  !'     Thinki 
13* 


t'i 


I  ';  ! 

!'»     ;    j 


I 


i- 


jr 


I; 


'•?  I 


If 


i!' 


i 


111': 


.;i( 


•ill     ■'' 


■  !!t 


i     ! 


4  ':: 


150 


THE    8ABLE    ISLAND    0H08T. 


I :  Old  boy,  who  is  afecrd  now?  I  warn't  boru  in  the  woods  to  tw 
Beared  by  an  owl." 

"  Exactly,"  8uid  Mr.  Eldad,  '  who  is  afcerd  ?  A  man  has  but  one 
ifife,  and  that  he  must  lose  some  day  or  another,  any  way  he  can  fix 
it,  and  ho  don't  know  how  soon.  He  is  a  fool  to  be  a  coward,  there- 
fore,  becau.se  the  time  will  come  when  he  can't  help  himself.  Die 
he  must.  Now  if  a  feller  had  nine  lives  like  a  cat,  (hey  would  bo 
worth  takiu'  care  of,  because,  in  a  general  way,  he'd  have  a  good 
stock  left,  and  gracious  knows  how  long  he  might  live.  lie  could 
afford  to  be  timid  like  them,  and  it  would  be  worth  his  while,  too, 
to  take  care  of  his  lives.     At  least,  that's  my  logic." 

"I  can't  say  much  fur  the  logic;"  sais  I;  "  but  your  first  idea  of 
dyin'  game  aint  a  b;id  one,  and  I  won't  nonconcur  you. 

"  VVell  off  we  went,  and  a  rael  pleasant  time  we  had  of  it,  too. 
Oh  I  what  fun  wo  hud  a  chasin*  of  them  wild  bosses !  There  was  a 
herd  of  three  hundred  of  them,  and  we  caught  a  lot  of  them  for  the 
Halifax  market,  for  they  overstock  the  island  now  and  then,  and 
have  to  bo  thinned  off.  You  have  no  idea  what  nice  eatin'  wild  hoss- 
meat  is.  It  was  the  fust  time  I  ever  tasted  any.  I  felt  kinder  skit- 
tish at  fust,  but  1  soon  got  used  to  it.  It  is  somethin'  between  veal 
and  beef.     As  for  wild  fowl,  there  is  no  eend  to  them  there." 

"Did  you  see  a  storm  there?"  said  Cutler. 

"I  guess  I  did,"  sais  I;  "and  that's  the  reason  I  staid  there  so 
long,  for  the  captin  had  to  get  on  board  quick  step,  up  anchor,  and 
off  till  it  was  over.  It  was  splendid,  you  may  depend — awful,  per- 
haps, is  the  proper  word.  You  fancy  you  hear  drowning  men's 
voices  in  it,  while  the  screams  of  birds  scuddin'  home  for  shelter 
aint  onlike  those  of  human  bein's." 

"  What  sort  of  a  lookin'  place  is  it  ?"  said  he  ?" 

"As  desolate,  wild,  an^J  lonely  a  place,"  suis  I.  "  as  ever  you  see. 
Its  sand,  just  the  colour  of  the  water,  and  can't  be  seen  at  no  great 
distance  on  that  account.  In  the  hollows  scooped  out  by  the  wind 
are  whortleberry  and  cranberry  bushes,  in  shallower  places  is  bent 
grass,  and  on  the  shores  wild  peas ;  but  there  aint  a  tree  or  a  shrub 
on  the  whole  island.  The  sand  drifts  in  a  gale  like  snow,  and  blows 
up  into  high  cones.  These  dance  about  sometimes,  and  change 
places;  and  when  they  do,  they  oncover  dead  bodies  of  poor  critters 
that  have  been  overtaken  there,  the  Lord  knows  when  or  how.  There 
is  a  large  lake  in  it  fifteen  miles  long." 

"Why  what  is  the  extent  of  the  island?"  said  Cutler. 

"About  thirty  miles,"  sais  I;  "and  from  one  and  a  half  to  two 
wide.  It  has  the  shape  of  a  bow,  and  tapers  off  at  both  ends.  Aftei 
the  storm,  the  superintendent  and  I  rode  all  round  it.  When  we 
come  to  the  north  end  of  the  lake,  we  got  off,  and  fastened  our  nags 
to  a  sort  of  pound,  made  of  ship  timber  and  drift  stuff,  that  they 
drive  wild  bosses  into  when  they  want  to  catch  them. 


i  ';i 


THE    SABLE     ISLAND    0  11081. 


161 


e  woods  to  0« 


"  'Now,'  naid  he,  'sit  down  here,  Mr.  Slick,  and  I'll  tell  you  one 
of  the  Btrangost  storins  you  ever  heard.  In  the  year  1802,  the  ship 
Pripcoss  Amelia  was  wracked  off  here,  having  the  furniture  of  the 
Queen's  father,  Prince  Kdward,  on  board,  and  a  number  of  recruits, 
Bodgcr  oflBcers  and  their  wives,  and  women  sarvants.  There  were  two 
hundred  souls  of  them  altogether,  and  they  all  perished.  About 
that  period,  some  piratical  vagabonds  used  to  frequent  there,  for  there 
was  no  regular  establishment  kept  on  the  island  then ;  and  it's  gene- 
rally supposed  some  of  the  poor  people  of  that  misfortinate  ship 
reached  the  shore  in  safety,  and  were  murdered  by  the  wrackers  for 
their  property.  Well,  the  Prince  sends  down  Captain  Torrens  —  of 
the  29th  regiment,  I  think  it  was — from  Halifax,  to  inquire  after  the 
missin'  ship ;  and,  as  luck  would  have  it,  he  was  wracked  too,  and 
pretty  nearly  lost  his  life  in  trying  to  drag  others  through  the  surf, 
for  he  was  a  man  that  didn't  know  what  danger  or  fear  either  was, 
except  by  name.  There  was  but  few  that  could  be  rescued  before 
the  vessel  went  to  pieces.  Well,  he  stationed  them  that  survived  at 
one  ccnd  of  the  island,  and  off  he  goes  to  the  other  so  as  to  extend 
his  look-out  for  aid  as  far  as  he  could,  but  first  they  had  to  bury  the 
dead  that  floated  from  the  troop-ship,  and  gather  up  such  parts  of 
the  Prince's  effects  as  came  ashore,  and  were  worth  saving.  It  was 
an  awfu'  \,  and  took  them  a  long  time,  for  the  grave  was  as  large 
as  a  eel  ost.     There  they  are,  just  where  that  long  bent  grasa 

grows.  Having  done  this,  and  findin'  fire-arms  in  the  Government 
shelter-hut,  off  he  goes  alone  to  the  other  eend  of  the  island.  One 
day,  having  made  the  circuit  of  the  lower  half  here,  he  returned 
about  dusk  to  where  we  now  are. 

" '  Where  you  see  that  little  hillock,  there  was  a  small  hut  in  those 
days,  that  had  firovorks  in  it,  and  some  food,  and  chairs,  and  tables, 
that  had  been  savtd  out  of  wracks,  which  were  placed  there  for  dis- 
tressed people ;  and  there  were  printed  instructions  in  French  and 
English,  telling  thom  what  to  do  to  keep  themselves  alive  till  they 
could  be  taken  off.  Well,  he  made  up  a  fire,  hauled  down  some  hay 
out  of  the  loft,  and  made  up  a  bed  in  one  corner,  and  went  out  to 
take  a  walk  along  by  the  side  of  the  lake,  afore  he  turned  in.  As  he 
returned,  he  was  surprised  to  see  his  dog  standin'  at  the  door,  lookin* 
awfully  skeered,  growlin',  barkin',  and  yelpin'  like  mad.  The  first 
thing  he  saw  inside  was  a  lady  sittiu'  on  one  side  of  the  fire,  with 
long  drippin'  hair  hangin'  over  her  shoulders,  her  face  as  pale  as 
death,  and  havin'  nothin'  on  but  a  loose  soiled  white  dress,  that  was 
as  wet  as  if  she  had  just  come  out  of  the  sea,  and  had  sand  stickin' 
to  it,  as  if  she  had  been  rolled  over  and  over  on  the  breakers.  Good 
Heavens,  Madam,  said  he,  who  are  you,  and  where  did  you  come 
from  ? 

'' '  But  she  didn't  speak  to  him,  and  only  held  up  her  hand  before 
her,  and  he  saw  one  of  the  forefingers  was  cut  oft",  and  was  still  blcedin'- 


1 


i  I 


I     i<i 


:^ 


1     i" 


■m  I' 

■.    i; 

I;  !•» 

iii  li 

i  ' 


I   i 


152 


THE    SABLE    ISLAND    QHOST. 


We!"!,  he  turned  round  nnd  opened  a  case  thai  he  liad  picked  up  in 
the  morniu'  from  the  drift  ship,  in  which  was  material-<  for  bandagin' 
the  wound,  and  was  goin'  to  oifer  her  some  assistance,  when  she  rose 
up  sudden,  slipped  past  uim,  and  went  out  of  the  door  and  walked 
off.  Well,  he  followed  and  called  to  her,  and  begged  her  to  stop; 
but  on  she  went',  and  thinkin'  she  was  out  of  her  mind,  he  ran  after 
her,  and  the  faster  he  went,  the  swifter  she  raced,  till  she  came  ta 
the  lake,  and  dove  right  into  it  head  foremost. 

"'Well,  he  stood  some  time  there  considerin'  and  ponderin'  ovet 
what  had  happened,  and  at  last  he  strolled  back,  and  sat  down  by 
the  fire  a  good  deal  puzzled.  Arcer  studyin'  it  out  for  some  time, 
sais  he  :  There  oan't  be  no  mistake  here.  That  is  not  a  ghost,  no."  a 
demented  person,  but  a  murdered  woman.  If  I  catch  a  wracker 
here,  while  I  am  on  the  island,  I'll  ask  no  questions,  but  I'll  shoot 
him  as  I  would  a  wolf.  Poor  thing,  she  wants  me  to  tell  her  friends 
I  have  seen  her,  and  that  she  is  actilly  dead ;  but  who  is  she.  and 
who  are  her  folks  ?  But  the  finger,  said  he,  that  is  very  odd.  I 
suppose  in  putting  up  her  hand  to  save  her  life,  it  was  cut  off.  Con- 
found the  villain,  I  wish  I  could  once  get  my  eyes  on  him,  and  he 
looked  at  the  primin'  of  his  gun,  and  wont  out  and  kneeled  down, 
and  takin'  off  his  hat  held  his  head  close  to  the  ground,  to  see  if  any- 
body was  I'xiovin'  between  him  and  the  hcrizon ;  and  findin'  there 
warn't,  and  feelin'  tired,  fur  he  had  been  on  his  feet  all  day,  h.^  re- 
turned to  the  hut  again,  and  who  should  be  there  but  the  self-same 
lady,  in  the  self-same  place. 

"^Now,  said  he  to  himself,  don't  go  too  near  her,  it's  evidently 
onpleasant  to  her;  but  she  has  some  communicatiou  to  make.  Well, 
what  do  you  think,  it's  a  positive  tact,  she  held  up  the  mutilated 
hand  again.  He  paused  some  time  afore  he  spoke,  and  took  a  good 
look  at  her,  to  be  sure  there  was  no  mistake,  and  to  be  able  to  iden- 
tify her  afterwards,  if  necessary. 

" '  Why,  sais  ho,  after  scrutiuizin'  of  her  (for  he  was  a  man  was 
the  brave  Captain  Torrens,  that  the  devil  himself  couldn't  daunt), 
why,  sais  he,  it  aint  possible!  Vv'hy,  Mrs.  Copeland,  is  that  you? 
for  he  knew  her  as  well  as  I  know  you.  She  was  the  wife  of  Dr. 
Copeland,  of  the  7th  regiment,  and  was  woll  known  i.t  Halifax,  and 
beloved  by  all  who  knowed  her.  She  just  bowed  her  head,  and  then 
held  up  her  hand,  and  showed  the  bloody  stump  of  her  finger. 

"  '  I  have  it,  sais  he,  murdered  for  the  sak(!  of  jour  ring,  —  she 
bowed  her  head.  Well,  sais  he,  I'll  track  the  villain  out,  till  he  is 
sliot  or  hanged.  Well,  she  looked  sad,  and  made  no  sign.  Well, 
sais  he,  I'll  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  iecovcr  that  rinjr,  and  restore 


it  to  your 


family. 


^tj 


'  Well,  sh.e  smiled,  bowed  her  head,  and  rose  up  and  waved  her 
hand  to  him  to  stand  out  of  the  way,  and  he  did,  and  she  slipped  by 
him,  and  then  turned  and  held  up  both  hands,  as  if  she  was  pushin' 


THE    SABLE    ISLAND    GHOST. 


153 


Borae  one  bach,  and  retreated  that  way,  makin'  the  same  motion  ;  and 
he  took  the  hint,  shut  to  the  door,  and  sot  down  to  disgest  this  curi- 
ous scene. 

" '  Now  that  story  is  a  positive  fact/  sals  the  superintendent. 
'Them  is  the  real  names.  iMy  father  heard  Torrens  tell  it  word  for 
word,  as  I  tell  it  to  you;  and  there  is  people  ^ow  living  to  Halifax, 
who  knew  him  well,  for  he  was  a  great  favorite  with  everybody. 
Just  after  that,  there  was  an  awful  storm,  and  another  wrack,  and 
he  was  mainly  the  means  of  saving  the  people  at  the  risk  of  his  own 
life.  His  name  is  on  the  chart  as  the  '  brave  Captain  Torrens,'  the 
Plouse  of  Assembly  voted  him  a  large  sum  of  money,  and  tlie 
Prince  thought  everything  of  him.  I  dare  sny  the  Duchess  of  Kent 
has  often  heard  the  story,  and  if  she  haint — ' 

"  '  But  about  the  ring  ?'  sais  I. 

"  '  Oh,  yes  !'  said  he,  '  that  is  the  curiosest  part  of  it.  Captain 
Tcrrens  got  hold  of  the  names  of  three  of  the  most  noted  wrackers, 
and  sot  out  to  track  'em  to  their  hidiu'-places.  One  of  them  lived 
to  Salmon  lliver,  just  nbout  as  solitary  and  lonely  a  place  as  he 
could  have  found  to  escape  observation.  When  the  Captain  got  there, 
the  feller  had  gone  away  to  Labrador,  Well,  Torrens  soon  knocked 
up  an  acquaintance  with  the  family  by  stayin'  at  the  house,  and 
makin'  it  his  head  quarters  while  he  was  fowlin'  and  Cshiu'  in  the 
neighbourhood.  One  evcnin'  he  put  on  a  splendid  ring,  which  ho 
brought  down  for  the  purpose,  so  ns  to  draw  the  talk  to  the  subject 
he  wanted.  The  oldest  g.-dl  admired  it  greatly;  and  he  took  it  off, 
and  it  was  handed  round,  and  commented  on.  At  last  one  of  the 
darters  said  she  didn't  think  it  was  half  so  pretty  as  the  one  daddy 
got  off  the  lady's  finger  at  Sable  Ishmd. 

" '  No.  my  lear,  said  the  mother,  who  got  behind  his  chair  to  tele- 
graph, he  got  it  from  a  Frenchman,  who  picked  it  up  at  the  sand 
there. 

" '  Oh  !  I  believe  it  was,  said  the  girl,  colourin'  up,  and  lookin'  a 
little  confused. 

'^ '  Weir,  at  last  the  ring  was  handed  back,  and  he  put  it  on  hia 
finger  again ;  and  when  he  was  kinder  pretendin'  to  be  admiring  it, 
sais  he,  carelessly : 

*' '  Show  me  your  ring;  if  it  is  as  handsome  as  this  I'll  buy  it  cf 
you,  for  I  am  a  great  ring-fancier  ;  but  I  don't  suppose  it  would  go 
on  my  great  coarse  finger  —  would  it?     Where  is  it? 

" '  It's  at  Halifax,  Sir,  said  she.  The  last  time  daddy  was  there, 
he  left  it  with  a  watchmaker  to  sell.  He  gave  him  twenty  shillinga 
on  it,  and  told  him  if  it  fetched  more  he  should  have  it. 

''  *  Oh,  said  he,  quite  unconsarned,  it's  no  matter. 

"  Oh,  yes !  it  is.  Sir,  said  she,  for  it's  a  most  beautiful  one ;  you 
had  better  buy  it,  and  she  described  it  most  minutely. 

"*  He  was  quite  satisfied;  and  ar tor  breakfast  the  next  mornit,* 


il 


'f?r' 


; 


'!i! 


.:!!■. 


'il! 


'   I!  I 

III 


llil 


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ill 

'1 

I 


I. 

■V 

f 


,/ 


t'l 


154 


THE     SABLE    ISLAND     GHOST 


he  started  for  Ilalifiix  as  fast  as- he  could.  Wei!  tho  town  warn't 
then  what  it  is  now.  Two  watchmakers  was  all  that  was  in  it,  so  a 
search  c.uiidn't  last  very  long  any  how;  but  in  the  window  of  the 
first  shop  he  went  to  was  the  identical  ring.  Sais  he  to  the  shop- 
man : 

"  '  Friend,  sais  he,  give  me  the  history  of  that  ring,  as  far  as  you 
know  about  it. 

"  '  Well,  the  account  was  just  what  he  had  heard  himself,  omittin' 
of  course  all  mention  of  the  fin^rer.     Says  he : 

"  *  Give  it  to  uio  ;  hero  are  the  twenty  shilijngs  advanced;  and  if 
tho  own^r  wants  more,  toll  him  to  bring  the  finger  that  was  cut  off 
to  get  at  it,  and  then  conio  to  me. 

"'Well,  it  was  identified  at  once  by  the  ladies  of  the  regiment, 
and  some  of  the  doctor's  brother  officers ;  and  the  moment  tho 
Prince  saw  it,  he  knew  it,  for  it  was  a  curious  old  family  ring,  and 
the  Captain  sent  it  to  England  to  I\Irs.  Copeland's  friends.  Torrens 
was  ordered  home  soon  after  that,  and  there  the  matter  dropt.' 

"That's  a  strange  story,"  said  the  skipper j  "what  do  you  think 
of  it,  Mr.  Slick?" 

"  Why,"  f^ais  I,  "  it  seems  to  come  very  straight,  and  looks  as  if 
it  was  true ;  and  nothiu'  ought  to  be  thought  onpossible  because  it's 
oncommon.  The  main  thing  is  how  a  story  is  vouched,  and  whether 
tho  man  who  tells  it  is  credible.  All  depends  on  that.  When  a 
feller  sais  ho  saw  an  apparition  ho  maybe  deceived;  his  eyes,,  or 
the  state  of  his  stomach,  opiM-atin'  on  his  vis^ioii,  or  his  fancy,  or  per- 
haps his  fears,  may  make  him  think  he  saw  it  when  he  didn't.  But 
if  an  apparition  appears  to  him,  not  in  bed,  when  he  may  mistake  a 
droam  tor  a  reality,  but  when  ho  is  wide  awake  and  in  good  health, 
and  gives  him  information,  and  he  acts  on  it,  and  the  information 
turns  out  correct,  wiiy  then  1  think  you  may  believe  him." 

"  AVell,"  sais  Eldad,  "  that  story  is  as  true  as  Gospel,  for  I've 
heard  it  from  Mr.  ("Jollingwood's  father,  who  was  with  the  Prince  at 
the  time,  and  saw  the  ring  iiimself;  and  more  than  that,  I  could  tell 
you  the  name  of  the  wraoker,  but  I  won't,  for  some  of  his  descend- 
ants are  still  living,  and  are  decent  people.  I  have  seen  tho  old 
coon  several  times,  and  the  devil  himself,  with  all  his  arts  and  insine- 
vations,  never  could  coax  him  out  of  tho  house  artcr  dark." 

"Exactly,"  sais  F,  "  Eldad,  that's  conscience;  and,  in  my  opinion, 
conscience  is  tho  devil.  His  court  is  hardly  a  fair  one,  for  he  fills 
three  offices  at  oiict.  lie  is  witness,  judge,  and  executioner.  Con- 
Bcience  is  a  witness,  and  testifies  agin  a  feller;  it  is  a  judge  too,  and 
knows  tho  evidence  is  true,  and  it  is  an  executioner,  and  has  no 
luarcy.  It  don't  punish  a  toller  right  oil',  and  ha'  done  with  it,  but 
it  keeps  torturin'  poor  sinners  all  the  time.  Depend  upon  it,  many 
and  many  a  night  it  woke  up  that  old  wracker  out  of  a  sound  sleep 
with  a  dig  on  his  ribs,  and  said :  '  I  say,  old  feller,  how  are  you  oil' 


-ni 


.ii'f'i 


THE     SABLE    ISLAND    GHOST. 


155 


-^  , 


for  rings?  You  liaintc  got  a  spare  fingnr  to  part  with,  have  you? 
for  I  want  one  lo  point  at  a  niunleror  with,  and  mine's  tirod  out/ 
Wrll.  then  it  kinder  relents,  h^ts  tlio  poor  niisfortunate  critter  f^o  to 
sleep  agin ;  and  when  iu^  begins  to  snore,  gives  a  dyiri'  screeteh  in 
his  ear  that  fetches  hin>  up  on  his  feet  in  a  moment,  and  he  rubs  his 
eyes,  half  stupid  with  fright  and  drowsiness,  and  sais :  'I  wish  to 
Jleavens  I  was  out  of  thji  cussed  island,'  and  he  lights  his  candle, 
turns  in  again,  and  goes  to  sleep  once  more;  for  ghosts  don't  como 
ill  where  there  is  light  in  a  general  way.  Well  he  dreams  (for  con- 
seiencc  is  a  dab  at  malcin'  fellers  act  tragedies  over  in  their  dreams), 
and  he  dreams  he  is  awful  hungry,  and  come  liome  just  in  time  for 
dinner,  and  there  is  a  beautiful  moat-pie  on  the  table  that  smells  so 
nice,  he  actilly  feels  his  mouth  water,  and  ho  cuts  the  crust,  puts  the 
epoon  in  it,  and  out  (omes  a  long  white  finger  with  a  beautiful  ring 
on  it.  Eldad,  that  is  wus  than  being  hung  —  aint  it?  Depend  on 
it,  Pilot,  as  I  said  before,  conscience  is  the  devil." 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "it's  wus  than  the  gallus,  if  you  are  quite  sure 
the  suiiie  thing  haute  to  be  gone  over  again  on  dead  man's  land. 
But  Mr.  Slick,"  said  he,  "you  describe  thiit  so  /jrYOwcrful,  you  must 
have  suffered  yourself,  1  guess,  from  conscience." 

"Well,  I  have,"  sais  1.  "  I  won't  deny  it,  for  I  should  tell  a  lie 
if  1  did.  You  know, '  if  we  say  we  have  no  sin  wo  deceive  ourselves, 
and  the  truth  is  not  in  us.'  I  do  actilly  dream  sometimes  of  au 
onsound  horse  I  have  put  off  afore  now  on  a  feller,  or  a  critter  that 
would  run  away,  or  a  clock  that  wouldn't  go;  and  L  won't  deny  the 
memory  of  these  things  does  trouble  me  now  and  agin  in  my  dreams, 
and  I  wake  up  almost  chokin'  and  laughin'  at  the  thought  of  it." 

"  IMr.  Slick,"  said  the  pilot,  "you  arc  a  droll  man.     Nothin'  «ctii. 
to  make  an  impression  on  you." 

"Don't  it,"  said  I;  and  I  turned  to  Cutler,  for  I  knew  Eldad 
couldn't  take  my  meanin'.  "My  mind  is  like  natur',"  sais  I. 
"  The  dark  shaders  and  deep  lines  are  in  the  right  place,  but  the 
strong  lights  and  bright  sky  are  also  where  they  ought  to  be,  L  hope. 
But  come,  Mr.  Nickerson,"  said  T,  "  I  have  told  you  my  ghost 
story,  now  do  you  spin  us  a  yarn  if  you  have  a  rael  dependable  one; 
if  not,  we  will  talk  of  something  else." 

"^Vell,"  said  he,  "I'll  tell  you  of  one  that  I  knowed  myself,  for 
I  was  on  board  the  vessel  at  the  time.  I  was  mate  oncet  of  a  brig 
of  Colonel  Freeman's,  of  Liverpool,  Nova  Scotia,  that  was  commanded 
by  Captain  James  Taylor,  for  I'll  give  you  the  real  names  of  the  par- 
tics — and  wc  had  just  come  back  from  the  West  Indies.  On  our 
return,  we  arrived  off  the  entrance  of  the  harbour  a  considerablo 
piece  arter  daylight-down,  when  the  wind  failed  us,  and  we  dropt 
anchor  there.  It  was  a  most  beautiful  moonligui  ni^rht 
you  knew  Captin  James  Taylor,  didn't  j'ou  ?" 


I  guess 


160 


THE     SABLE     ISLAND    GHOST. 


r 


lai 


w 


U' 


if  !ii 


*' Yes,"  said  T,  "  I  knew  him ;  and  a  better  shipmaster,  or  a  better 
man,  never  trod  iu  shoe  leather." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "he  would  go  ashore  and  walk  up  to  the  town, 
which  was  about  two  miles  olF;  and  he  left  me  in  charge,  with  orders 
to  get  under  weigh  as  soon  as  the  night  breeze  sprung  up,  and  two 
hands  got  into  the  boat,  and  set  him  ashore.  Well,  he  crossed  over 
into  the  main  road,  and  made  for  home.  *As  he  neared  Liverpool, 
he  came  opposite  to  old  Mr.  Parker's  farm,  where  a  man  of  the 
name  of  Trots  lived  as  a  tenant.  The  furst  person  he  saw  was  old 
Trots  himself,  who  was  lame,  standing  out  in  front  of  the  door. 

"  How  are  you.  Trots  V  said  he.  "  Give  me  a  drink  of  water, 
that's  a  good  fellow." 

"  Well,  the  old  chap  didn't  answer,  so  he  repeated  it  louder;  but 
the  critter  wouldn'^t  speak. 

"What  in  natur'  ails  you?"  said  he;  and  went  close  up  to  him, 
and  called  out  again,  at  the  tip  eeud  of  his  voice  :  "Give  me  a  glass 
of  water,  old  feller,  will  you  V 

"  Trots  stared  him  iu  the  face,  and  never  said  a  word,  or  offered 
to  move.  Now,  as  the  Captain  was  in  a  hurry,  and  it  was  gettin* 
late,  he  turns  out  into  the  road  quick,  just  leaving  a  parting  tough 
word  for  the  old  man  to  digest,  and  thought  no  more  about  it.  In 
the  mornin',  he  goes  to  Colonel  Freeman  to  report  the  vessel,  and 
tell  him  about  the  sale  of  his  lumber  and  fish,  and  so  on,  in  the 
West  Indies. 

"  Says  the  Colonel,  'Jemmy,*  sais  he  (for  he  was  a  great  hand  for 
patronisin'  smart  young  men,  and  a  putting  of  them  forward  in  the 
world),  '  did  you  see  anything  of  my  servant  on  the  road  last 
night.' 

"  No  !"  said  he,  *  the  only  man  I  saw  was  old  Trots  ;  and  he — ' 

"  Pooh !'  said  he,  '  Trots !  why  Trots  has  been  dead  and  buried 
these  three  weeks.' 

"  'Why  how  you  talk !'  said  the  captin ;  and  he  jumps  up  and  tells 
him  the  whole  story. 

"  Just  then,  who  should  come  into  the  eountin' -house  buf  Captin 
Dewal,  of  Liverpool,  and  said  he: 

"  Colonel,  did  you  hear  about  Trots  ?' 

"  What's  that?'  said  Taylor,  in  astonishment,  for  he  knew  he  had 
told  no  one  the  story. 

" '  Why,'  said  he,  '  Trots  was  at  his  old  house  last  night,  and 
appeai-ed  to  Murphy.' 

"  Murphy  was  another  tenant  who  had  moved  into  the  house  after 
Trot's  death,  and  he  woke  him  up. 

"  Murphy,'  sais  he,  'in  three  days  you  will  be  where  I  am.' 

"  The  poor  critter  was  as  well  at  the  time  as  I  am  now,  but  sure 
enough,  in  three  days,  he  was  as  dead  as  a  herrin'.  What  do  you 
think  of  that,  Mr.  Slick  ?     Can  you  account  for  it  ?' 


THE     SABLE     ISLAND    GHOST. 


157 


"  Yos,"  sais  I,  "as  easy  as  kiss  my  hand.  It  was  a  moonlighi 
ni^-tt  N'jw,  as  the  captin  knew  Trots  lived  there  when  he  went 
to  the  Wcrit  Indies,  it's  naterul  he  should  take  a  shadow  of  a  gate. 
post,  or  somethin'  or  another  for  him,  and  think  he  actilly  saw  him. 
That  will  account  for  that  part  of  it.  Now  suppose  Murphy  had 
taken  a  glass  of  grog  extra  that  night,  or  a  pound  of  pork  more  than 
common,  got  the  night-mare,  and  fancied  old  Trots  was  a  sittin  a 
top  of  him,  got  scared  at  the  dream,  and  died  out  of  fright.  That 
'vill  account  for  t'other  part  of  it." 

"You  may  imagine  anything,"  said  Cutler;  "but  accordin'  to 
that  way  of  reasonin',  all  human  testimony  would  be  an  illusion, 
and  no  one  could  ever  be  convicted.     I  believe  that  story  firmly." 

''  So  do  I  believe  it  firmly,  too,"  said  I;  "but  he  didn't  ask  me 
if  I  believed  it,  he  asked  me  if  I  could  account  for  it ;  and  I  never 
allow  mystlf  to  bo  stumped,  so  I  just  give  him  reasons  he  didn't  think 
of.  Yes,  I  believe  it  too,  for  Captain  Taylor  is  as  brave  a  man  as  ever 
Captain  Torrens  was,  as  little  likely  to  be  deceived,  and  a  man  of 
undoubted  veracity.     Yes,  I  believe  it."* 

»  These  two  stories  ai'e  given  with  the  real  names.  The  first  is  ■well 
known  to  an  oflicer  of  the  7th,  still  living,  who  was  intimately  acquainted 
with  the  parties;  and  all  those  persons  named  in  the  second,  wtre  well 
known  to  myself. — Author. 


iin 


r*5- 


.HS  in 


.:.  Iii.^i 


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,f''' 

1: 

: 

1 

.;  'I 

IGa 


T  11  K     "WITCH     OF     E  3  K  I  S  O  0  N  Y 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE   WITCH   OP   ESKISOONY. 

In  the  mornin',  all  was  bustle  on  board  of  the  'Black  Hank;' 
boats  and  canoes  were  alongside  from  various  parts  o^  the  harbour, 
and  a  rapid  sale  was  effected  of  the  "  notions  "  on  board,  either  for 
money,  or  by  barter  for  fish  and  oil.  While  these  were  conducted 
under  the  auspices  of  the  mate  and  the  pilot,  I  took  the  gig,  anj 
puttin'  into  it  my  fishin'-tackle,  rifle  and  earpet-bag,  containin'  a  few 
changes,  I  rowed  up  the  river  to  the  residence  of  my  old  friend, 
Captin  CoUingwood. 

The  house  was  situated  on  a  gentle  acclivity,  that  sloped  gradually 
down  to  the  river,  conimandin'  a  view  of  several  of  its  windings,  but 
sheltered  from  the  Atlantic  storms  by  a  projectiu'  wooded  promon- 
tory, that  shut  in  the  harbour,  and  gave  it  an  air  of  seclusion  and 
repose.  Seein'  a  man  at  some  little  distance,  haulin'  sea-weed  in  an 
ox-cart,  I  ascertained  from  him  all  the  particulars  concernin'  the 
family,  and  the  whereabouts  of  all  its  members.  I  always  do  this 
"when  I  visit  a  house  artcr  a  long  absence,  to  avoid  puttin'  ontimely 
questions.  It  isn't  pleasant,  in  a  gineral  way,  to  inquire*after  the 
old  lady,  and  find  her  place  supplied  by  another ;  or  after  a  son  that's 
dead  and  buried,  or  a  gal  that's  taken  it  into  her  head  to  get  married 
without  leave.  Them  mistakes  make  a  feller  look  blank,  and  don't 
make  you  more  welcome,  that's  a  fact.  "  Don't  cai'e,"  won't  bear 
friendship  for  fruit,  and  ^^  Don't  /mow,  I'm  siwc,"  won't  ripen  it. 
Life  has  a  chart  as  well  as  a  roast,  and  a  little  care  will  keep  you 
clear  of  rocks,  reefs  and  tiandhars. 

After  I  had  heard  all  I  wanted,  sais  I,  *'  Friend,  one  good  turn 
deserves  another,  now  your  oil-ox  aint  as  smart,  or  as  stroim,  as  your 
near  one." 

''  Well,  that's  a.  fact,"  sais  he,  ''  he  aint." 

"Give  him  a  little  more  of  the  yoke-beam,"  sais  T,  '*  that  will 
give  him  more  purchase,  and  make  him  even  with  tother." 

"  Well,  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  he. 

"  Mornin' "  sais  I.  "  Come,  steward,  you  and  I  must  be  a 
movin'. 

"  'Never  thought  of  that,'"  said  I,  "Sorrow,"  addressin'  of  the 
nigger  sarvant,  "well,  I  don't  believe  that  goney  will  ever  'think 
of  that  again/  for  advice  that  ain't  paid  for  ain't  no  gcod.  But  hero 
we  are  at  the  house ;  now  put  down  the  things  and  cut  for  the  vessel, 
you  may  be  wanted  ** 


THE    WITCH    OF    KSKISOONY. 


159 


I  must  be   a 


I  paused  a  moment  before  knookin'  at  tlie  door,  to  take  a  look  at 
tlie  Kconc  before  me.  How  familiar  it  looked!  and  yet  how  many 
tiiin'TS  hud  happened  to  mo  siueo  T  was  hero  !  A  member  of  tho 
cinbassy  to  London  —  an  Attache — visitin'  palaces,  castles,  country- 
seats  and  town-liouses.  How  will  country  gals  in  Nova  8cotia  look 
after  well-dressed  fashionable  ladies  to  England,  that  art  has  helped 
natur'  to  make  handsome,  and  wealth  held  out  tho  puss  to,  wido 
open,  and  said,  "  Don't  spare,  for  there's  plenty  more?"  The  Town 
Hall  to  Slickvillo,  that  seemed  so  largo  afore  I  left,  looked  liko 
nothin'  when  I  came  back,  the  IMuseum  warn't  as  good  as  an  old 
curiosity  shop,  and  tho  houses  looked  as  if  tho  two  upper  storeys  ]|^d 
been  cut  off.  ^ 

Will  these  gals  of  Collingwood's  seem  coarse,  or  vulgar?  or  fipn- 
saited,  or  ignorant,  or  what?  If  I  thought  they  would  I  wouIan'<j 
go  in.  I  liko  'em  too  well  to  draw  comparisons  agin  'em.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  they  looked  the  best  of  the  two,  arter  all !  First,  I  know 
they'll  bo  more  bloomin',  for  they  keep  better  hours;  next,  they  are 
natoral,  and  tho'  lirst  chop  ladies  to  London  arc  so  too,  yet  art  is 
only  polished  natur',  and  the  height  of  it  is  to  look  nateral.  It's 
like  the  racl  thing,  but  it  wants  life.  One's  an  artiiicial  flower :  the 
other's  a  rael  genuine  rose.  One  has  no  scent:  tho  other's  parfume 
itself.  I  guess,  at  last,  high-ltred  beauty  looks  best  to  high-born 
folks,  and  simple  country  trainin'  to  folks  that's  used  to  it  them- 
selves. Circumstances,  education,  and  custom  makes  circles  in  Eng- 
land and  the  States,  in  monarchies  and  republics,  and  everywhere 
else,  and  always  will ;  and  I  reckon  everybody  had  better  keep  to 
his  own,  or  at  any  rate  to  one  that  ain't  very  far  above  or  below  it. 
A  man  must  keep  his  own  circle,  like  his  own  side  of  the  road,  un- 
less he  wants  to  be  elbowed  and  jostled  for  everlastin'. 

I  wonder  whether  Sophy  would  do  for  me,  or  whether  she  would 
bear  transplantin'  to  Slickvillo?  Let's  see,  here  goes;  and  just  as 
I  lifted  up  my  hand  to  rap  on  the  door,  swing  it  went  open,  and  it 
nearly  hit  her  in  the  face.  As  she  started  and  coloured  with  sur- 
prise, I  thought  I  never  see  so  handsome  a  gal  in  my  life.  "  Well 
done,  natur'!"  sais  I  to  myself,  "you've  carried  the  day,  and  I 
kinder  guessed  you  would." 

"Don't  be  skeered,  jMiss,"  said  T,  "my  hand  was  lifted  agin  the 
door,  and  not  agin  you,  to  enquire  if  my  old  friend,  the  Captin,  was 
to  home." 

She  said  he  was  absent,  but  would  be  back  in  time  for  dinner; 
and,  as  her  little  brother  made  his  appearance  with  his  satchel  over 
his  shoulder,  ho  and  I  lifted  into  the  hall  my  travellin'  traps.  It 
was  plain  she  didn't  recollect  me,  and  I  don't  know  as  I  should  hava 
know'd  her,  if  I  hadn't  seen  her  to  home  —  she  had  filled  out,  and 
developed  into  so  fine  a  woman  ! 

Arter  a  while,  sais  she,  "  Ycu  have  the  advantage  of  me,  Sir  ?" 


WW 


IGO 


THE     WITCH     or     ESKISOONY, 


i  111 


'it 


I 


W 


•^ 


;.iiii. 


!■ 


(nieanin',  '  Pray  what  may  your  name  be  V  it's  a  common  phrase, 
this  side  of  the  Atlantic) ;  but  I  evaded  it. 

"  No,'.'  sais  T,  *'  Miss  Sophy,  you  have  the  advantage  of  me ;  for 
you  have  youth,  bloom  and  beauty  on  your  side  :  and  1  am  s^o'vedder 
beaden/  as  poor  old  Rodenheiser  over  the  river  tliere  used  to  say, 
tliat  you  don't  recollect  me.  ]3ut  where  is  Mary  ?  tell  her  that  her 
old  friend,  Mr,  81ick,  has  come  to  see  her." 

"  Mr.  Slick,''  said  she,  "  well,  what  a  surprise  this  is !  I  knew 
your  face  and  your  voice,  but  I  couldn't  just  call  your  name,  not  ex- 
pectin'  to  see  you,  and  being  taken  by  surprise,  it  confused  mc. 
Why,  how  do  you  do?  —  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  Jemmy,  call 
Mary;  but  don't  tell  her  who  it  is,  see  if  her  memory  is  better  than 
mine.  IIow  delighted  my  f  ither  will  be  !  He  often  talks  of  you, 
and  only  yesterday  wondered  where  you  were." 

Mary,  like  her  sister,  had  greatly  improved  in  appearance;  but, 
unlike  her,  knew  me  at  once,  and  I  was  at  home  once  more  among 
friends.  The  country  is  the  place  for  warm  hearts.  The  field  is 
larger,  and  fo*ver  in  it,  than  in  cities;  and  they  aint  fenced  in,  and 
penned  up,  and  don't  beat  by  rule.  Feelins  rise  sudden,  like  freshets, 
and  gush  right  over;  and  then  when  they  subside  like,  run  deep,  and 
clear,  and  transparent.   ■ 

A  country  welcome,  like  a  country  wood-fire,  is  the  most  bright 
and  charmin'  thing  in  the  world :  warms  all,  and  cheers  all,  and 
lights  up  everythin'.  Oh  !  give  me  the  country,  and  them  that  live 
in  it.  Poor  dear  old  Minister  used  to  say,  "The  voice  that  whispers 
in  the  trees,  and  intones  the  brooks,  or  calls  aloud  in  the  cataracts, 
is  the  voice  of  Him  that  made  them ;  and  the  birds  that  sing,  and 
the  fish  that  leap  with  joy,  and  the  hum  of  unseen  myriads  of  ani- 
mate creatures,  and  the  flov^ers  of  the  fields,  and  the  blossoming 
shrubs,  all  speak  of  peace,  quiet,  and  happiness.  Is  it  any  wonder 
that  those  who  live  there  become  part  of  the  landscape,  and  harmo- 
nize with  all  around  them  ?  They  inhale  fragrance ;  and  are  healthy, 
and  look  on  beaut}^  till  they  reflect  it  ?"  I  remember  his  very  words; 
and  what  was  there  that  he  didn't  say  pretty?  But  these  galls  have 
set  me  off  thinkin'  over  his  poetical  ideas. 

I  wonder  if  comin'  by  sea  makes  the  contrast  greater  ?  P'raps  it 
does,  for  all  natur  loves  variety.  Arter  a  little  chat,  thinks  I,  I'll 
just  take  myself  off  now  for  a  spell;  for,  in  course,  there  is  some- 
thin'  to  do  when  a  stranger  arrives ;  and  when  most  that  is  done,  is 
done  by  folks  themselves.  The  <jreat.  secret  of  life  is  never  to  he  in 
the  xcay  of  others.  So  sais  I,  "Jemmy,  my  boy,  did  you  ever  sec  a 
salmon  caught  with  a  fly?" 

"  No,  Sir,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  then,  s'posen  you  and  I  go  down  to  where  the  Eskisoony 
stream  jines  the  river,  and  I  will  raise  one  for  dinner  in  lesa  than 
half  no  time.     It's  beautiful  sport." 


II, 


THE     WITCH     OF     ESKISOONY. 


l(Jl 


is !     I  knew 


"I  will  jist  run  up  and  put  on  ray  bonnet,  and  walk  with  you," 
said  Sopliy.  "I  liuve  often  heerd  of  fly-fishin',  but  never  saw  it. 
This  wt';ix  i.i  my  holidays,  for  it's  Mary's  turn  to  be  housekeeper." 

"Any  chance  of  a  shot,  my  little  man?"  sais  I.  "Shall  I  tako 
myriflo?" 

'' Oh,  yes,  Sir;  the  minks  and  otters,  at  this  season,  are  very  busy 
fishin'." 

"  Tl»ere's  some  chance  for  a  fur-cap  for  you  then,  this  winter,  my 
boy,"  sais  I. 

Having  prepared  all  things  necessary,  and  loaded  little  Jemmy 
with  the  fishin'-rod  and  landin'-net,  I  took  Sophy  under  otic  arm, 
and  slung  my  rifle  over  the  other,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  on  the 
best  spot  on  the  river  for  salmon. 

"  Now,  my  little  squire,  look  here,"  sais  I.  "  Do  you  see  where 
the  water  shoals  above  that  deep,  €till  pool  ?  Well,  that  is  the  place 
to  look  for  the  gentleman  to  invite  to  dinner.  Choose  a  fly  always 
like  the  flics  of  the  season  and  place,  for  he  has  an  eye  for  natur  as 
well  as  you;  and  as  you  arc  agoin'  to  take  him  in  so,  he  shan't  know 
his  own  food  when  he  sees  it,  you  must  make  it  look  like  the  very 
identical  thing  itself,  or  else  he  turns  up  his  nose  at  it,  laughs  in  his 
gills,  and  gais  to  himself,  '  I  aint  such  a  fool  as  you  take  me  to  be.' 
Then  throw  your  line  clear  across  the  stream ;  float  it  gently  down 
this  way,  and  then  lift  the  head  of  the  rod,  and  trail  it  up  conside- 
rable quick  —  tip,  tip,  tip,  on  the  water.  Ah  !  that's  a  trout,  and  a 
fine  fellow  too.  That's  the  way  to  play  him  to  drown  him.  Now 
for  the  landin'-net.  Aint  he  a  whopper?"  In  a  few  minutes,  a 
dozen  and  a  half  of  splendid  trout  were  extended  on  the  grass. 
*'  You  see  the  trout  take  the  fly  before  I  have  a  chance  to  trail  it  up 
the  stream.  Now,  I'll  not  float  it  down,  for  that's  their  game;  but 
cast  it  slantin'  across,  and  then  skim  it  up,  as  a  nateral  fly  skims 
along.  That's  the  ticket !  I've  struck  a  nobliferous  salmon.  Now 
you'll  see  sport."  The  fish  took  down  the  stream  at  a  great  rate, 
and  I  in  and  after  him ;  stayin'  but  not  snubbin',  rcstrainin'  but  not 
checkin'  him  short ;  till  he  took  his  last  desperate  leap  clear  out  of 
the  water,  and  then  headed  up  stream  again ;  but  he  grew  weaker 
and  weaker,  and  arter  a  while  I  at  last  reached  the  old  stand,  brought 
him  to  shore  nearly  beat  out,  and  pop  ho  went  into  the  net,  "That's 
lesson  number  one.  Jemmy.  Now  we'll  set  down  under  the  oaks, 
and  wait  till  the  disturbance  of  the  water  is  over.  How  strange  it 
is,  Sophy,  that  you  couldn't  recollect  me  !  Maybe  it's  witchery,  for 
tliat  has  a  prodigious  effect  upon  the  memory.  Do  you  believe  in 
witches  ?"  said  I,  leaning  on  my  elbow  in  the  grass,  and  looking  up 
into  her  pretty  face. 

"How  can  I  believe,  who  never  saw  one  —  did  you?" 

"Just  come  from  a  county  in  England,"  said  I,  "that's  chockfuJ 
of  'em." 


IC2 


THE     WITCH     OF     E  S  K  I  S  0  0  N  T , 


i      •!< 


I  v: 


■i'l'Hlif 


*'  Do  tell  oie,"  said  she,  "  what  sort  of  looking  people  they  are. 
Little,  cross,  spiteful,  crooked  old  women,  aint  they  ?" 

"The  most  splendid  galls,"  sais  I,  "mortal  man  ever  beheld; 
half-angel,  half-woman,  with  a  touch  of  cherubim,  musical  tongues, 
telegraph  eyes,  and  checks  made  of  red  and  white  roses.  They'd 
bewitch  Old  IScratch  himself,  if  he  was  only  to  look  on  'em.  They 
call  'cm  Lancashire  witches." 

"Did  thoy  ever  bewitch  you?"  she  said,  laughin'. 

"Well,  they  would,  that's  a  fact;  only  I  had  beeu  bewitched 
before  by  a  far  handsomer  one  than  any  of  them.*' 

"  And  pray,  who  is  she?" 

"  If  I  was  to  call  her  up  from  the  deep,"  sals  I,  "  have  you 
courage  enough  to  look  her  in  the  face  ?" 

Well,  she  looked  a  little  chalky  at  that,  but  said,  with  a  steady 
voice,  "  Certainly  I  have.  I  never  did  any  harm  to  any  one  in  my 
life;  why  should  I  be  afraid  of  her,  especially  if  she's  so  handsome?" 

"Well,  then,  I'll  raise  her;  and  you'll  sec  what  I  never  saw  in 
England  or  elsewhere.  I'll  show  her  to  you  in  the  pool;"  and  I 
waved  my  hand  three  or  four  times  round  my  head,  and  with  a  staff 
made  a  circle  on  the  ground,  prctendin'  to  comply  with  rules,  and 
look  wise.  "Come,"  sais  I,  "sweet  witch,  rise  and  show  your 
beautiful  face.  Now,  give  me  your  hand.  Miss;"  and  I  led  her 
down  to  the  deep,  still,  transparent  pool. 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  said  she,  "I'm  not  sure  the  raisin'  of  spirits  is  right 
for  you  to  do." 

But  I  said,  "I  would  look  on  this  one,  and  I  will,  to  show  you 
there's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  but  doing  wrong.  Stoop  and  look 
into  the  water,"  sais  I ;  "  now,  what  do  you  see  ?" 

"Nothing,"  she  said,  "but  some  trout  swimmin'  slowly  about?" 

"  Hold  your  head  a  little  higher,"  sais  I.  "Move  a  little  further 
this  way,  on  account  of  the  light;  that's  it.    What  do  you  see  now?" 

"Nothin'  but  my  own  face." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  look  again." 

"  Certainly,  it's  my  own  ;  I  ought  to  know  it." 

"  Well,  that's  the  face  of  Sophy,  the  Witch  of  Eskisoony." 

Well,  she  jumped  up  on  her  feet,  and  she  didn't  look  pleased  at 
the  joke,  I  tell  you. 

Sais  she,  "  Mr.  Slick,  that's  not  right ;  you  have  seen  a  good  deal 
of  the  world,  and  we  are  simple-minded,  rustic  people  here.  It  is 
not  right  to  play  us  off  that  way  for  your  own  amusement,  or  that  of 
your  readers.  It's  not  kind,  nor  is  it  right  to  praise  one  so  extrava- 
gantly. A  woman  must  be  foolish  to  believe  it  or  receive  it.  You 
left  us  a  friend,  and  have  returned  a  flatterer." 

Hurrah  for  good  sense,  sais  I  to  myself,  that's  the  plant  for 
Slickville. 

"Miss  Sophy,"  sais  I,  "you  forgot  my  name,  and  now  it's  cleal 


THE     WITCH     OP     ESKISOONY. 


163 


beeu  bewitched 


if  spirits  is  right 


yju'vc  forgot  my  way  and  manner,  or  you  would  recollect  bauterin' 
talk  is  as  natcral  to  nic  as  singin'  is  to  a  canary  bird.  I  don't  mean 
iiothin'  but  good  natur'  by  it.  I'm  dreadful  sorry  for  sayin'  ordoin* 
anytliin'  you  don't  approve.  You  havu't  seen  mo  of  late,  and  can't 
lielp  feelin'  a  little  of  the  resarvo  of  a  stranger.  You  would'nt  a 
minded  it  a  month  hence,  when  iho  past  and  present  was  jined,  and 
all  that's  atween  seemed  one.  I  admit  I  was  wrong.  People  may 
ccnd  familiar,  but  they  should'n*  begin  familiar.  To  call  an  ugly 
woman  by  her  right  name  would  entitle  a  feller  to  a  kickin',  but  to 
call  a  beautiful — no,  that's  too  flattcrin'  a  word — a  handsome — no, 
that's  too  familiar — a  pretty  girl — well,  that  word  may  pass,  though 
it  fulls  short  —  a  pretty  girl  a  pretty  girl,  ain't  such  a  deadly  sin,  I 
think,  arter  all." 

Well,  she  laughed.  "  Nor  I  either,"  said  she.  "  But  come,  let's 
talk  no  more  about  it;  perhaps  I  made  too  much  of  itj  I  believe 
I  did." 

Hurrah  for  human  natur',  says  I  agin,  to  myself.  I  would'nt 
give  a  cent  for  a  gall  that  isn't  well  provided  with  it. 

"No  you  didn't,"  sais  I.  "I  was  wrong,  and  am  sorry  for  it. 
Resarvc  is  a  line /nice,  (hat  neujhboiirs  hava  to  keep  up,  to  prevent 
encroachments.  The  most  beautiful  roses  in  the  world  have  thorns  and 
prickles  all  under  their  leaves,  and  around  their  stems,  that  scratch, 
and  jab,  and  hurt  like  anythin';  well,  they're  there  for  defence. 
If  folks  will  let  the  roses  alone,  the  thorns  will  let  them  be ;  but  if 
they  rumfoozle  the  flower,  why  they  just  catch  it,  right  and  left, 
that's  all.  If  it  warn't  for  them,  there  wouldn't  be  no  roses  at  all; 
they  couldn't  show  their  pretty  faces;  and  they  have  as  good  a  right 
to  fcihow  their  bloomiu'  smilin'  cheeks  as  Lancashire  witches  or  Esca- 
soon — (I  like  to  have  made  a  hole  in  my  manners),  or  any  other 
pretty  little  witches.  If  it  warn't  for  them,"  said  I,  ''the  cows 
would  browse  on  all  that  grow  spontaneous-like  in  the  fields,  and  the 
goats  feed  on  'em,  and  the  sheep  nibble  away  at  'era  like  any  thin*  j 
there  wouldn't  soon  be  a  rose  on  the  face  of  the  airth." 

"Well,  you  do  talk  different  from  anybody  else,"  she  said,  "that's 
a  fact.  I  didn't  mean  to  be  angry  with  you,  and  I  don't  think  1 
could,  if  I  did." 

"  Well,  come  and  sit  down,"  sais  I,  "  under  the  oaks  again,  and 
I'll  tell  you  a  curious  story  of  an  old  woman  that  was  bewitched  at 
Annapolis,  as  you  was,  and  lost  her  memory.  Well,"  sais  I,  "  when 
1  first  went  to — But,  hush !"  said  I,  and  I  laid  my  hand  on  her  arm, 
for  just  then  I  heerd  a  rushin',  tramplin'  kind  of  noise  in  the  alder- 
bushes,  right  across  the  Eskisoony  run,  that  suddenly  stopped,  and 
then  a  sort  of  puffin',  and  loud  breathiu',  like  little  model  engines. 
"  What's  that!"'  sais  I,  in  a  whisper. 

"It's  the  young  cattle,"  said  she. 

"No/*  said  I,  "that's  not  the  way  they  browse.     Keep  as  still 


H  .;('■ 


ri^ 


,v 


m 


I 


:;      ,,l 


^!'t  . 


ii   1  t 


'i|       '1: 


'1'       ■     I 


104 


THE     Wncn    OP    EBKIflOONY. 


»> 


as  a  mouse.  "  And  T  put  my  hools  on  the  grass,  and  lifted  up  my 
weight  with  my  hntids,  and  ampersanded  forwards  that  way  until  I 
got  near  the  tree?,  when  T  took  up  my  rifle,  and  made  all  ready.  Just 
then  the  craekliu'  of  the  .shruks  showed  som(!thing  was  niovin' 
on,  and  then  the  same  noise  was  made  further  beyond,  and  in  a  min- 
ute or  two,  a  beautiful  largo  stately  carriboo  came  out  of  the  thicket, 
BDuifed  up  the  air,  looked  round  cautious,  and  made  as  if  he  was 
a-goin'  to  take  a  drink,  to  cool  his  coppers.  I  drew  a  bead  on  him, 
and  let  him  have  it  as  quick  as  wink.  Ho  sprang  up  on  ccnd,  the 
matter  of  a  yard  or  so,  and  fell  right  down  dead  in  the  bushes,  when 
oflf  started  the  herd  among  the  alders,  as  if  they  'd  crush  the  whole 
of  them  into  the  intervale. 

"You've  got  him,  Mr.  Slick!"  said  Jemmy,  who  was  about 
jumpin'  up  on  his  feet,  when  I  pulled  him  down  again. 

"  Hush  1"  said  1,  "  not  a  word  for  your  life.  Keep  dark  and  lay 
low,  they'll  come  back  again  to  look  after  him  presently,  and  then 
I'll  get  another  shot."  And  I  reloaded  as  fast  as  I  could,  crawled 
nearer  llic  +runk  of  the  tree,  and  got  a  position  for  coverin'  anythin' 
for  some  distance  up  and  down  stream.  Arter  layin'  a  while  there, 
the  same  tramplin*  was  heard  again,  and  then  the  same  hard  breath- 
in',  and  then  the  sounds  of  more  than  one  advancin',  when  two  lead- 
ers came  out  of  the  bush,  and  stood  and  looked  at  their  old  captain, 
a-wonderin'  what  on  airtl  was  the  matter  with  him,  when  bang  went 
the  rifle,  and  down  went  unother  noble  buck  right  across  him. 

"Now,  Jemmy,"  sais  ,  "  we  can  afl'ord  to  talk,  for  I  don't  want 
to  kill  no  more.  There  ';i  one  for  the  house,  and  one  for  the  *  Black 
Hawk,'  and  it's  my  rule  not  to  waste  God's  bounties." 

"  And  a  very  good  rule  it  is,  too,"  said  Sophy.  "  I  never  could 
bear  to  hear  of  their  bein'  shot  just  for  sport,  and  then  left  in  the 
woods  for  the  crows  and  foxes  to  eat.  That  don 't  seem  to  me  the 
purpose  Providence  designed  'em  for.  What  on  airth  could  have 
brought  them  away  down  here  ?  I  don 't  remember  ever  hearin'  of 
any  being  so  near  the  coast  before." 

"  The  witch  of  Eskisoo  —  Oh  !  I  was  very  nearly  in  for  it  again  I" 
says  I. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  she,  laughin',  "  there's  many  a  niisttike  made  on 
purpose." 

"There's  something  diiEcult  to  get  out  of  the  head  of  Sophy," 
sais  I,  "and  some  more  difficult  to  get  out  of  the  heart."  She  col- 
oured some  at  that,  and  kinder  looked  down ;  but,  woman  like,  waa 
cunnin'  of  fence,  and  answered  right  ot''. 

"And  among  them  the  love  of  banter,  that's  born  in  some  folks^ 
I  do  believe.     But  go  on  with  your  Annapolis  story." 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  and  I  rested  agin  on  my  elbow,  and  looked  up 
into  her  beautiful  face  —  for  there 's  no  way  a  gall  looks  so  pretty  as 
when  in  that  position.     If  they  have  to  look  up  to  you,  it  kinder 


■i 


THE    WITCH    OP    ESKISOONY. 


165 


who  was  about 


causes  them  to  throw  tho  licad  back,  opens  the  t^ycs  too  wide,  and 
(lOVcrs  tl)e  whole  face  with  strong  light,  llnlf  tho  hcnuty,  and  more 
nor  half  the  expression  is  lost.  Besides,  tho  nock  is  apt  to  look 
cnrdy.  When  they  look  down,  the  eyelashes  full,  and  tho  eye  is 
better  i'hapod,  more  oval,  less  round,  and  is  more  liquii'.  The  beau- 
tiful bow-shape  of  the  mouth  shows  better,  tho  ringlets  hang  grace- 
ful and  there  's  shapes  here  and  there  in  tho  face  that  sets  it  off 
grand.  Nothin'  ever  looks  pretty  in  glare.  Tiiat's  the  !  dvantago 
ill  paintin'.  It  makes  one  know  what  he  could  n't  larn  without  it. 
My  clocks  have  been  tho  makin'  of  me,  that's  a  fact.  Daubin' 
fii'ures  on  'em  set  mo  to  study  drawin'  and  paintin',  and  that  mado 
mo  study  natur.  An  (irtiat  h(ts  wore  than  two  iiji:>i,  that's  a  fact. 
"Sophy,"  sais  I,  "afore  I  go,  I  must  try  and  take  you,  just  as  you 
now  sit." 

"Take  mo  ?"  ;he  said,  lookin'  puzzled. 

"Yes,"  sais  i;  "I  have  my  drawin'-pencil  and  sketchiu'-block 
here,  and  if  you  only  knew  how  becomiu'  that  attitude  is  —  how 
beautiful  you  do — " 

"Oh,  come  now,"  she  said,  "don't  talk  nonsense  that  way,  that's 
a  good  soul !     Go  on  with  your  story." 

"Well,  I'll  try,"  sais  I,  "tho'  it's  hard  to  think  of  one  thing, 
and  talk  of  another."  The  fact  is,  and  there's  no  denyin'  it,  much 
as  I've  laughed  at  others,  I  was'  almost  spoony  myself.  "  When  I 
first  went  dow:;  t^r  Annapolis  —  Jemmy,"  sais  I,  "suppose  you 
carry  up  that  are  salmon  to  the  house;  it's  time  it  was  there  for 
dinner,  and  tell  some  of  the  men  folks,  when  they  return  at  twelve 
o'clock,  to  bring  down  a  woodeu-shod  ox-sled  to  carry  up  the  deer. 
It  will  side  over  the  grass  most  as  easy  as  snow.  When  I  first  went 
to  Annapolis,"  sais  1.  Just  then  Sophy  looked  over  her  shoulder 
arter  Jemmy,  and  seemed  oneasy  like;  I  suppose  she  didn't  half 
like  buin'  left  alone  there  with  me  u  lolliu'  on  the  grass,  and  sbo 
was  right.  It  ain't  enough  for  gulls  not  to  (jive  jx'ople  reason  to 
talk  ;  thei/  shoulchi't  even  (jive  them  a  chance.  But  if  she  took  mo 
into  her  calculations  she  was  wrong.  When  folks  confides  in  me, 
I'd  die  to  presarve  confidence.  When  they  take  the  reins  and  trust 
to  their  own  drivin',  I  leave  'em  to  take  care  of  themselves,  and  jist 
look  arter  number  one." 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  sais  she,  "  I  beg  pardon  for  interruptin'  you,  but 
we  are  Icavin'  poor  Mary  all  alone.  I  think  we'd  better  return, 
p'raps." 

"Jemmy,"  sais  I,  a  callin'  arter  him  ever  so  loud,  "ask  Miss 
Mary  if  she  won't  come  and  see  a  salmon  caught.  Oh  !  don't  go, 
Miss,"  sais  I ;  "  I  have  to  leave  to-morrow,  and  it's  such  a  treat  for 
me  to  see  you,  and  talk  to  you,  you  can't  think." 

"  To-morrow  1"  sais  she.     "  Oh  my,  you  don't  say  so  !'' 

"  Well,  let's  talk  of  to-morrow/ '  sais  I,  "  when  to-morrow  comes. 


V 

1L. 


■li-  .  'I 


I- 


si 


#1 


II 


yi'^'^i! 


166 


THE    WITCn    OP    ESKISOONY. 


Sophy,"  and  T  took  her  hand,  "  Sophy,"  sais  I,  and  I  looked  up  into 
her  face;  I  don't  think  she  ever  looked  so  handsome  afore  since  she 
was  born,  "  Sophy — "  and  what  I  was  agoin'  to  say  ain't  no  matter, 
for  she  kinder  cut  it  short,  and  said  : 

"Well,  go  on  with  your  story  then,  Mr.  Slick." 
Sam,  sais  I,  to  myself,  a  faint  heart,  you  know,  never  won  a  fair 
lady ;  you  have  turned  into  a  nateral  fool,  I  do  believe. 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "  when  I  first  went  to  Annapolis,  there  was  an 
old  lady  there,  one  Mrs.  Lothrop,  a  very  old  woman ;  and  when  she 
heard  I  was  there,  she  sent  for  me.  When  she  was  a  little  girl,  she 
lived  at  Brooklyn  Ferry,  where  her  father  died  when  she  was  nine 
years  old.  Arter  that,  she  lived  in  the  house  of  a  loyalist,  named 
Lothrop,  and  married  one  of  his  sons,  and  when  the  war  came,  moved 
down  to  this  country. 

"  Well,  she  wanted  to  talk  of  Long  Island,,  and  the  old  ferry,  and 
the  market  day«<.  and  what  not^  of  old  times.  She  said  she  would 
like  to-eend  her  days  there ;  that  she  was  sure  the  moon  w?.s  larger 
there  than  here,  and  shone  brighter,  and  the  fruit  was  better,  and 
the  people  honester,  and  I  don't  know  what  all.  It  was  a  great 
comfort  to  her  to  see  me,  and  hoar  herself  talk  about  those  things ; 
and  every  tinie  I  went  there,  I  used  to  go  and  sec  her,  it  pleased 
her  so. 

"  Well,  the  last  time  I  was  to  that  town,  the  servant  waked  me 
up  about  daylight  one  day,  and  said,  '  Mr.  Lothrop'  (that  was  her 
youngest  son,  for  her  husband  had  been  long  dead)  '  was  below,  and 
wanted  to  see  me  in  a  great  hurry.' 

" '  Tell  him  I'll  be  down  torectly,'  sais  I. 

" '  Oh !'  sais  the  servant,  '  he  is  carryin'  on  dref».Jful  down  there, 
and  fe-ais  he  must  see  you  this  very  blessed  minute.' 

"'Tell  him  to  come  up,  then,'  sais  I,  'and  I'll  talk  to  him  here 
in  bed.' 

"  Well,  in  run  Lothrop,  a-wringin'  of  his  hand,  and  lookin'  as 
pale  as  a  ghost,  and  a  goin'  round  and  round  the  room,  like  a  ravin' 
distracted  bedbug." 

"  What  a  curious  expression !"  said  Sophy,  and  she  larfed  like  any« 
thin'.     "  How  droll  you  do  talk,  Mr.  Slick  !" 

"It's  a  way  I  have,  sometimes,"  said  I. 

"Well,  go  on,"  says  she. 

"  Well,  all  the  goney  could  say  was,  •  Oh,  Mr.  Slick !  oh,  Mr. 
Slick  !  —  it's  a  dreadful  piece  of  bu.siness  about  mother!  01* !  oh  !' 
eais  he,  and  he  boohood  right  out,  like  a  child. 

"  '  Come,  Lothrop,'  sais  I,  a-raisin'  of  myself  up  in  bed, '  bo  a  man, 
and  tell  me  what  you  are  makiu'  this  everlastin'  touss  about.' 

" '  Oh  !  oh  !*  siiis  he,  *  I  cun't ;  it's  too  bad  !'  and  oflF  he  sot  agin, 
■  a  blubberin'  like  a  school-boy. 

"  At  last,  I  got  rii<?d  and  fairly  got  my  dander  up.     '  Como,  out 


ft 


THE    WITCH    OF    ESKI800NY. 


167 


;ver  won  a  fair 


with  it/  sais  I,  'like  a  man,  or  out  with  yourself  from  tbia  room, 
and  let  me  go  to  sleep.     What  ails  the  old  lady  ?  —  is  she  dead  ?' 
"  '  Oh  !  WU8  nor  that !' 

<< '  Raced  oflf  and  got  married  agin  ?'  sais  I.  Well  that  kinder 
grigged  him,  and  cooled  him  down  a  bit. 

^' '  Raced  off  and  got  married  !'  sais  he,  '  I  didn't  expect  to  hear 
you  speak  so  disrespectful  of  poor  dear  mother !  You  know  that's 
onpossible,  in  the  natur'  of  things ;  but  if  it  war,  it's  wus  nor  that !' 

"  <  Well,  what  in  natur'  is  it  ?'  sais  I. 

"Why,'  sais  he,  'she's  be  —  be  —  be — '  and  at  last  he  giggog- 
gled  it  out,  'she's  be — be — bewitched  !' 

'"Re — be  —  be  —  witched!'  sais  I,  a-mockin'  him,  for  unless  I 
made  him  mad,  I  knew  I  couldn't  make  him  talk;  'you  be  —  be  — 
be — hanged!  you  great  big,  blubberin'  blockhead!  If  you  han't 
got  no  sense,  I  hope  you've  got  some  decency  left.  So  clear  out  of 
this,  and  let  me  go  to  sleep.  I  railly  didn't  think  you  was  such  a 
bornfool !     Get  out  o'  this,  afore  I  put  you  out !" 

"  '  Oh  !  Mr.  Slick,'  said  he,  '  don't  be  wrathy  !  If  you  only  knew 
all,  you  wouldn't  say  so.     She's  dreadful  to  behold !' 

"  '  Rut  I  do  know  all,'  sais  I.  '  I  know  there's  no  such  a  thir>g 
under  the  sun  as  a  witch ;  if  there  was,  you'd  a-been  hanged  long 
ago,  you're  such  a  knowin'  'coon.     Out  with  you  !' 

'"Mr.  Slick !'  sais  he,  'oh,  Mr.  Slick !  do  come  and  see  her,  and 
tell  us  what  to  do  with  her  !' 

" '  Well,'  sais  I,  '  I  will,  for  her  sake  :  for  I'd  do  anythinjg  amost 
for  her;  but  there's  one  thing  I'd  do  willingly  for  you,  and  that  is 
to  kick  you.' 

" '  Well,  then,'  said  he,  '  if  she  aint  bewitched,  I'll  stand  kickin* 
till  you're  tired.' 

" '  Done,'  sais  I.  '  Go  and  b'  mess  up  Old  Clay,  and  I'll  dress  in 
a  jiffy  and  off.     Come,  make  yourself  scarce  :  bear  a  hand.' 

"  Well,  as  we  drove  along,  '  Now,'  sais  I,  'Lothrop,  if  you  don't 
want  me  to  lose  my  temper,  and  pitch  you  right  out  of  this  here 
waggon,  begin  at  the  beginnin',  and  tell  me  this  here  foolish  story.' 

" '  Foolish  !'  said  he.     '  Mr.  Slick,  I  am  sure — ' 

"I  jist  hauled  up  short.  'NojaW,'  sais  I.  'Just  begin  now, 
and  tell  it  short,  for  I  don't  approbate  long  yarns,'  (Sophy  smiled  at 
this,  as  much  as  to  say  how  little  we  know  ourselves,  but  she  didn't 
say  notuin'),  'or  out  you  go.' 

" '  Well,'  sais  he,  *  it  was  night  before  last.  Sir,  about  twelve 
o'clock,  as  near  I  can  guess,  that  I  first  heerd  the  witch  come  to  the 
house,  and  call  Mother !  through  the  roof.' 

" '  What  an  everlastin',  abominable,  onaccountable  fool  you  be, 
Lothrop,'  sais  I;  '  but  go  on.' 

" '  Let  me  tell  it  my  own  way,'  sais  he.  '  W^ell,  Fanny  had  gone 
to  bed  before  me,  and  wns  fast  asleep  when  I  turned  in,  and  I  wap 


■Mfwnii 


^^^''"P*P"M'*<<VP 


■pun 


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»68 


THE    WITCH    OP    ESKISOONY. 


H  :^i| 


!l!l 


!i   I"  an: 

■'     t  :!,:      it 


111 


'11! ;! 


just  a  droppin*  off  into  the  land  of  nod,  when  whap  the  hag  jumped 
on  the  Tvoof,  near  the  chimbly,  and  scratched  about  among  the  shin- 
gles with  her  l)rooinstick,  and  called  out  two  witch  words  I  didn't 
understand.  Oh  !  they  were  loud,  and  clear,  and  cold  enough  to 
freeze  you !  So  I  wakes  up  Fanny.  Fanny,  sais  I.  What,  dear  ? 
sais  she.  Just  listen.  Well,  I  am  listeniu'  sais  she.  What  have 
you  got  to  say,  love  ?  Listen,  sais  I.  Well,  I  am  listening'  sais  she, 
quite  peevish-like  :  what  is  it,  dear  ?  Do  you  hear  anything  ?  sais  I. 
Yes,  sais  she,  dear,  I  hear  you.  Tut !  sais  I ;  don't  you  hear  any- 
body else  ?  Why,  in  course,  I  do  ;  I  hear  Granny  a  snorin',  that's 
all.  It  was  worth  while  to  wake  me  up  for  that,  warn't  it !  And 
she  turned  right  round  agin,  and  dropped  off  to  sleep  as  quick  as 
wink.  Well,  Christians  talkin'  that  way,  skeered  off  the  witch,  or 
ghost,  or  banshee,  or  whatever  it  was ;  and  I  thought  it  was  all  over, 
and  had  just  begun  to  forget  all  about  it,  when  bang  it  come  agin 
upon  the  ridgepole,  and  called  twice  for  the  old  lady.  Well,  I  wakes 
up  wife  agin.  Fanny,  sais  I.  John,  sais  she,  what's  the  matter? 
what  on  airth  ails  you  ?  Listen,  sais  I.  I  won't,  sais  she ;  so  there, 
now,  do  for  goodness  gracious  sake,  go  to  sleep.  Fanny,  sais  I,  I  am 
skeered.  Oh  I  jou've  been  dreamin',  sais  she  :  do  be  quiet;  you'll 
wake  up  the  baby,  and  then  we  shall  have  a  proper  hullabaloo  here. 
There,  sais  I,  didn't  you  hear  that  noise  now  ?  for  there  was  another 
call  as  plain  as  barkin'.  Yes,  said  she,  I  do;  it's  nothin'  but  an  owl; 
and  you  are  a  stupid  booby  too,  to  be  scared  by  an  owl ;  seein'  you 
was  raised  in  the  woods.  I'll  get  right  up,  and  shoot  it,  sais  I;  I'm 
superstitious  about  owls.  They  bring  bad  luck;  their  great  goggle 
eyes  aint  nateral.  The  night  Jem  Denson  —  Jem  Denson  be  fid- 
dled, said  she,  and  you  too.  I'll  have  no  such  carryin's  on  here,  iu 
the  night,  on  no  account.  Go  right  off  to  sleep  this  minute ;  and 
she  put  her  arm  round  my  neck,  and  held  me  like  a  fox-trap,  and 
pretended  to  snore  in  my  ear.  So  we  both  fell  into  a  sound  sleep, 
and  it  was  broad  day  when  I  woke  up.  When  I  did,  Fanny  had  me 
fast  by  the  neck  still;  I  couldn't  get  her  arm  off.  Fanny,  sais  I, 
but  she  was  dead  asleep ;  Fanny,  dear  :  no  answer.  Fanny,  sais  I, 
a  undoin'  of  her  arm,  and  a  shakin'  her.  I  won't  listen  no  more 
It's  time  to  get  up,  sais  I.  I  won't,  sais  she ;  it's  nothin'  but  an 
owl.  Fact  is,  she  was  a  little  bewitched  herself,  without  knowin'  of 
it,  and  it  was  some  time  before  she  was  wide  awake.' 

"  '  Your  wife  is  an  undcrstandin'  woman/  sais  I ;  '  it's  a  pity  you 
hadn't  some  of  her  sense.' 

''  *  Well,  I  got  up,  and  went  into  the  keepin'-room,  and  as  I  passed 
mother's  door,  I  heard  her  call  out  in  an  unairthly  voice.  Fanny, 
pais  I ;  but  she  was  a  dozin'  oft"  agin,  Fanny,  for  Heaven's  sake,  get 
up ;  sais  I,  mother's  bewitched  ?  It's  you,  she  said,  that's  be- 
witched; it's  nothin'  but  an — an — o — owl,  and  off  she  dropt  agin  as 
fast  'db  a  pine-stump.     I  just  lifted  her  right  out  o'  bed,  carried  her 


THE    WITCH     OF    ESKISOONY. 


169 


to  mother's  room  in  my  arms,  opened  the  door,  sot  her  on  the  floor, 
and  left  her  in  there.  In  less  than  a  minute,  she  screamed  awful, 
and  mother  screamed  herself  hoarse.  When  I  went  in  I  cried  like  a 
child/ 

<' '  I've  no  doubt  you  did/  sais  I,  *  and  yelled  loud  enough  to  wake 
the  dead.' 

"'So  would  yon,'  said  he,  ^if  you  had  a  been  there,  I  know,  and 
it  will  shock  you  awful  now.  Oh,  Mr.  Slick  !  what  a  time  we  have 
had  of  it  ever  since  !  There  she  lies,  talkin'  that  devilish  gibberish, 
and  then  she  cries*  and  sobs,  and  falls  asleep  exhausted,  and  then  at 
it  agin  like  anythin'.  What  a  dreadful  fearful  thing  witchcraft  is  ! 
I  went  to  the  parson,  and  he  ordered  mo  out  of  the  room,  and  told 
me  it  was  scandalous  to  sec  me  so  drunk  at  such  a  time  of  the 
mornin'.     But  here  we  are.' 

"  Well,  sure  enough,  the  whole  family  looked  as  if  they  were 
gatheriu'  for  a  funeral,  cryin'  and  sobbiu'  like  anythin'.  '  Mornin',' 
sais  I,  '  Mrs.  Lothrop.  How  is  the  old  lady,  to-day  ?  Can  I  see 
her?'  Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  I  went  into  her  room,  and 
held  out  my  hand  to  her  without  speakin'.  She  took  it,  and  then 
certainly  did  let  off  a  lingo  strange  enough  to  make  Adam  and  Eve 
stare.  Well,  I  sat  and  looked,  and  listened,  and  at  last  an  idea 
flashed  across  my  mind,  and  I  kneeled  down  close  by  the  bed,  and 
whispered  a  word  in  her  ear,  and  she  started,  looked  at  me,  stared, 
and  then  the  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  Arter  the  space  of  a  minute 
more,  I  tried  another,  and  whispered  it  also,  and  she  put  her  hand 
on  my  head:  and  patted  it,  and  then  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks, 
but  slie  was  quite  eased." 

"  \Miat  was  them  two  words,  IMr.  Slick  ?  do  tell  me.  That's  a 
very  curious  story,"  said  Sophy. 

Well,  I  wasn't  a-goin'  to  toll  her  jist  then;  it  spoils  stories  to  let; 
the  cat  out  of  the  bag  too  soon,  and  I  was  spinnin'  it  as  long  as  I 
could,  to  keep  her  there,  it  was  so  pleasant.  What  a  pitij  it  is 
marryin^  spoils  courtiti ,  "I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute,"  sais  Ij  "for 
I'm  afeerd  I'm  dctainin'  of  you.  Well,  if  Lothrop  and  his  wife 
didn't  look  amazed  it's  a  pity.  They  were  confirmed  in  their 
opinion  of  witches,  and  jist  looked  on  me  vith  wonder,  as  if  I  was 
one  myself." 

" '  Well,'  said  Lothrop,  '  what  do  you  make  of  it,  Mr.  Slick  V 

"  '  That  she's  no  more  bewitched,'  sais  I,  '  than  I  am  ]  but  most 
drove  mad  l)y  you  and  your  confounded  tom-fooleries,  about  owls, 
broom-handles  and  fiddlesticks.  ISow,  I  can't  cure  her,  and  I'm  most 
afeard  she  won't  be  never  quite  restored  agin  j  but  I'll  go  and  bring 
her  ease,  I  know.' 

Them  two  words  made  me  feel  quite  sure  I  was  right.  Knowin* 
what  a  great  thing  employment  is  to  people  who  are  in  troubk^,  sais 
I,  '  Mrs.  Lothrop,  this  great  wiseacre  here,  who  was  scared  by  au 
15 


fffwf 


170 


THE    WITCH     OF    E8KIS00NT. 


W  ^ 


lill 


.  •'■  1 


m 


.;t!  I 


owl,  hauled  me  out  of  bed  this  mornin',  before  I  had  my  breakfast. 
1  begin  to  feel  pretty  considerable  peckish,  I  do  assure  you.  Just 
turn  to,  that's  a  good  woman,  and  give  me  one  of  your  rael,  good, 
old-fiishioned  breakfasts,  and  I'll  be  back  in  half  an  hour  and  bring 
you  cnftifort,  I  know.' 

"  Well,  off  I  starts  up  the  back  road  to  old  Jones,  tells  him  Mrs. 
Lothrnp  hadn't  long  to  live,  and  wanted  to  see  him  right-off, 
bundled  him  into  the  waggon,  flew  like  iled  lightnin*  back  to  the 
house,  and  marched  him  right  into  the  old  lady's  bed-room.  Well, 
she  began  agin  with  her  lingo,  and  he  answered  her,  and  she  sot  up, 
took  hold  of  his  hand,  kissed  it,  and  made  him  sit  down  on  the  bed 
and  talk  to  her. 

"  *  Why,  what  on  earth's  that  ?"  said  Lothrop. 

"  '  Welsh,'  sais  I ;  '  don't  you  know  your  mother  left  Wales  when 
she  was  nine  years  old  ?" 

" '  Yes,  I  do,'  sais  he ;  *  but  I've  heard  her  say  over  and  over  agin, 
that  she  didn't  recollect  a  word  of  Welsh,  and  had  forgot  the  very 
sound  of  it.' 

" '  Well,  you  see  she's  had  a  slight  paralitic  attack,  that's  affected 
her  head.  The  English  is  gone,  and  the  Welsh  has  returned,  and 
there  is  the  eend  of  all  your  long  lockrum  about  owls,  witches  and 
broomsticks.  You  must  get  that  Welshman's  daughter  to  attend 
her.  And  now,  mother,'  sais  I,  tappin'  Mrs.  Lothrop  on  the  shoulder, 
*  now  for  breakfast.  You  never  spoke  a  truer  word  in  your  life,  than 
when  you  said  it  was  John  that  was  bewitched.'  " 

"  What  a  curious  story !"  said  Sophy.  "  But,  Mr.  Slick,  what  was 
them  two  words  you  whispered  in  the  old  lady's  ear?" 

"  Why,"  sais  I,  "  I  guessed  it  was  old  times  had  come  back  to 
her,  so  to  try  her,  I  whispered  '  Brooklin' '  in  her  ear,  where  she 
came  to  as  a  child,  and  the  other  word  was  her  father's  name,  'An- 
Williams.' " 

"  Now,  you're  making  all  that  story,  I  know  you  are,  just  on  pur- 
pose to  keep  me  here  !" 

"  Fact,  I  assure  you.  Miss ;  upon  my  honour,  every  word  of  it's 
true." 

"  Well,  then,  all  I  caa  say  is,  it's  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  heerd 
in  my  life.     But,  dear  me,  I  must  be  a  movin' !" 

With  that,  I  jumped  up  on  my  feet,  and  held  out  both  hands. 
"  Let  me  help  you  up,  Miss,"  sais  I,  and  takin'  her's  in  mine,  I 
gave  her  a  lift,  and  afore  she  know'd  what  I  was  at,  she  was  bolt 
upright,  face  to  face  to  me,  and  I  drew  her  in,  and  put  my  head  for- 
ward, close  up.     But  she  bent  back. 

"Ah  !  no,  Mr.  Slick,  that's  not  fair;  it's  not  right." 

"  Just  one  little  kiss,"  said  I. 

"No,  no." 

*' Not  for  old  times?" 


''IB. 


THE    WITCH     OF    ESKISOONY. 


171 


"  I  can't." 

" Not  for  makin'  up?" 

"  Oh,  we  have  made  up/' 

"Well,  then,  just  to  remember  you  by,  when  I  am  gonj  and  far 
away  ?" 

But  she  held  off,  and  said,  "  You  have  no  right  to  take  this 
liberty,  Sir." 

Jist  then  I  felt  a  slap  on  the  back.  "  That's  fly-fishing,  is  it  ?" 
said  Mary.  *'  That's  the  tackle  you  explained  to  Jemmy,  for 
catchin'  galls  and  salmon.     Pretty  sport,  aint  it?" 

"  Oh,  Mary  !"  said  Sophy,  laughin',  "  How  glad  I  am  you've 
come.  Here  has  Mr.  Slick  been  catchin'  salmon  with  flies,  that  no- 
body else  ever  did  on  this  river,  and  killin'  carriboo  where  no  soul 
ever  saw  'em  afore ;  and  makin'  a  fool  of  me,  which  no  one  ever  tried 
to  do  yet." 

"  More  fool  you  to  let  him,"  said  Mary.  "  It's  more  than  he 
could  do  with  me,  I  know." 

'^Es  it?"  sais  I,  glad  to  have  somethin'  to  say,  for  I  really  did 
feel  foolish.     "It's  a  fair  challenge  that." 

"  Yes,"  said  she.  "  I'm  not  to  be  taken  in  by  skimmin'  the  fly 
up  the  stream — tip,  tip,  tip;"  and  she  held  out  her  arm  as  if  trailin' 
the  rod,  and  laughed  a  merry  laugh  that  made  the  woods  ring  agin. 
"  Come,"  said  she,  "  let  me  see  you  catch  a  salmon,  and  then  we'll 
go  up  to  the  house,  for  father  ought  to  be  back  soon  now." 

Well,  I  tried  the  stream,  and  whipt  away  at  it  scientific,  light 
enough  to  tickle  it  amost ;  but  it  was  no  go.  The  sun  had  come  out 
too  hot.  The  fish  was  lazy,  or  sarcy,  or  somethin'  or  another,  and  I 
couldn't  raise  one  of  'em, 

"  Pretty  sport,  aint  it  ?"  said  she.  "  If  you  can't  catch  one  fish 
in  an  hour,  how  many  could  you  take  in  a  whole  day  ?  Can  you 
cipher  that  out  ?  Grive  me  the  rod  j  I  do  believe  I  could  do  better 
myself." 

"  That's  the  ticket,"  sais  I :  "  that's  jist  what  I  wanted  you  to  do, 
and  why  I  didn't  take  none  myself.  If  you  catch  one,  you  know 
the  penalty.     I  give  you  notice ;  you  must  pay  your  footin'." 

"Will  I?"  said  she;  "I'll  teach  you  what  footin'  you  are  on 
first,  I  can  tell  you."  But  as  she  said  that,  an  enormous  salmon, 
weighin'  the  matter  of  twelve  pounds  at  least,  took  the  fly,  and  at 
the  same  time,  by  the  sudden  jerk,  took  Mary  too  from  off"  the  bank 
into  the  deep,  round  pool,  below  where  she  was  standin'.  It  was 
the  work  of  an  instant ;  but  in  another  instant  I  foUered,  and  as  she 
rose  to  the  surface,  placed  one  arm  round  her  waist,  and  almost  in 
as  short  a  time  as  it  takes  to  tell  it,  was  conveyin'  her  to  her  sister. 
It  was  a  dip  or  dive,  and  nothin'  more,  hardly  enough  to  take  away 
her  breath.     It  would  take  a  good  deal  more  nor  that,  I  guess,  to 


r    -irrw 


If  111 ' 


tf  I 


■n 


HI 
If 


p  ; 


ii 


172 


T  II  K    WITCH     OF    E  S  K  I  S  0  0  N  V . 


frighten  hor;  for  better  tiarves,  and  better  spirits,  I  never  seed  ia 
all  my  born  dayn.      She  was  tiie  most  playful  crittur  I  ever  beheld. 

"  My  I  how  you  fskeered  mo,  Miss,"  said  I.  "It  was  all  my 
fault:  I  ought  to  have  cautioned  you." 

"I  iruc«s  you're  skeor^d  in  earnest/'  she  said;  *'for  you're 
squeezing  me  as  tight  as  if  I  was  m  the  water  still.  Sit  me  down, 
please." 

"You  must  pay  you're  footin',"  sais  I.  "That  was  the  bargain, 
you  know." 

"But  I  haven't  caught  the  fish,"  said  she,  as  quick  as  a  wink, 
and  a  boxin'  of  my  ears. 

"IJut  I've  caught  the  fisher,"  sais  I. 

"That's  not  fair  now,"  sais  she;  "that's  highway  robbery,  I 
declare.  Well,  then,  take  it,"  sais  she,  "  and  much  good  may  it  do 
you." 

"  Hullo  !  what  the  devil  is  all  this,  Slick  !"  said  the  Captain,  who 
jist  then  came  out  of  the  wood  path,  and  stood  afore  us. 

"  Caught  agin  !"  sais  I  to  myself,  as  I  placed  Mary  on  hei^feet. 
"Hang  me  if  ever  I'll  kiss  a  gal  agin  till  I'm  married,  and  I  won't 
then  if  there's  any  chance  of  bein'  scon." 

"  I'll  tell  you,  father,"  said  Mary,  "  what  it  all  means.  I  fell 
into  the  deep  pool  here,  giddy  pate  as  I  am,  and  Mr.  Slick  jumped 
in  after  me,  and  before  I  almost  knew  where  I  was,  had  me  out,  like 
a  man;  and  then,  man-fashion — for  men  can't  do  generous  things — • 
claimed  his  reward,  and  I  was  just  a  payin'  of  him.  I'm  glad  he 
did,  for  now  we  are  even.  When  a  critter  is  paid  for  his  sarvices, 
there  is  no  obligation." 

"  I  don't  think  s^^,"  said  her  father,  laughin'.  "  A  man  man  who 
saves  a  young  lady's  life  at  the  risk  of  his  own,  is  entitled  to  a  kisa 
all  the  world  over.  You  may  thank  your  stars  you  had  him  here 
with  you.  31any  a  milksop  of  a  felhr  would  have  called  out,  when 
you  were  under  water  and  couldn't  hear,  not  to  be  frightened,  and 
run  backward  and  forward  on  the  bank,  as  flustered  as  a  hen  with  a 
brood  of  young  ducks,  and  held  out  a  stick  to  you,  too  short  for  you 
to  reach,  and  told  you  to  lay  hold,  and  he'd  pull  you  out.  Slick, 
I'm  right  glad  to  see  you,  my  boy.  I  take  this  visit  very  kind  of 
you.  Sophy,  make  these  two  cock-a-wee  divin'-birds  go  and  change 
their  clothes  before  they  take  cold.  Here  come  the  boys  with  the 
sled,  and  I  will  sec  to  gettin'  the  carriboo  up." 

"  Come,  Miss  Mary,"  sais  I,  "  I  think  your  father  is  right.  WilJ 
you  take  a /??«,  fair  lady?"  sais  I,  offorin'  her  an  arm. 

"  Well,  tho'  you're  an  odd  Jhh,  and  did  play  me  that  scaler/  tricl) 
just  now,"  said  she,  "  I  don't  care  if  I  do,  particularly  as  you  can't 
soil  my  dress.  But,  oh,  ]Mr.  Slick  !"  said  she,  "that  was  a  merciful 
dispensation  of  Providence,  wasn't  it?" 

"  Very,"  sais  I. 


M" 


THE    WITCH    OF    ESKISOONY, 


na 


"You  ought  to  be  very  thnnkful,"  she  said. 

"I  hope  I  am,"  sais  T,  "for  bciu'  an  humlilc  instrument  iu — " 

"I  don't  think  you  knew  your  own  danger." 

"  Danger  !"  sais  I ;  "  I  was  in  no  sort  or  manner  of  danger." 

"  .Sdjiliy,  only  hear  him  how  he  talks,  after  such  a  merciful  escape. 
Oh  !  you  ought  to  have  a  thankful  heart,  Sir.  I  was  so  frightened 
about  you,  1  fairly  trembled." 

"  Me  having  had  an  escape  !"  sais  I,  fairly  puzzled,  and  regularly 
took  in,  for  I  didn't  know  what  on  earth  she  was  a  drivin'  at. 

"  So  little,"  said  she,  "turns  the  scale  to  good  or  bad  fortune  — 
to  happiness  or  evil.  I  must  say,  I  felt  for  you.  How  near  too,  my 
good  friend,  yoa  was  havin'  got  it !" 

"  Got  what  ?"  sais  I.     "  Do  tell." 

"A  rael  handsome  quilting,"  sais  she,  "from  the  old  gentleman, 
and  richly  you  deserved  it  too,  for  kissiu'  his  two  daughters  without 
his  leave,  and  agin  their  wishes,  jist  to  see  whose  lips  was  the  sweet- 
est ;"  and  she  fairly  staggered,  she  laughed  so.  "  Do  you  take 
now?"  she  said,  and  then  looking  demure  agin,  went  on  :  "Wasn't 
it  a  merciful  dispensation  V 

"Don't  make  so  light  of  those  words,  Mary,  my  dear,"  said 
Sophy;  "it  don't  sound  pretty." 

"  You  certainly  had  an  escape,  though,"  said  I. 

"Well,  I  had,"  she  said;  "there's  no  denyin'  of  it.  I  jumped 
in  to  look  after  the  witch  of  Eskisoony,  that  I  heard  was  there ;" 
and  ghe  gave  Sophy  a  wicked  look  that  made  the  colour  rise  to  her 
cheeks;  "  but  as  the  old  ballad  we  read  the  other  day  says, 

"  '  But  still,  like  the  mermaid  in  stories, 
I  found  it  a  dullish  consarn, 
With  no  creatures  but  trouts  and  John  Doriea, 
To  listen  to  spinning  a  yarn.' 

So  I  just  rose  to  the  surface,  and  took  your  arm,  and  walked  ashore, 
By  the  bye,  Mr.  Slick,  I  hope  you  didn't  wet  your  clock;  just  see 
if  you  have." 

"  Watch,  you  mean,"  I  said. 

Well,  she  nearly  fell  down,  she  laughed  agin  so  violent. 

"  What  a  mistake  to  make  !  Only  fancy  a  man  with  a  great  big 
clock  in  front,  with  a  large  white  face,  and  two  brass  hands,  and 
Wnshiogton  on  a  white  horse  above  it !  What  a  mistake  !  Well, 
pcrhupa  you  have  wet  your  paper-mon<5y  ?" 

"  I  have  none  in  my  pocket,"  said  I. 

"That's  lucky;  it  will  save  you  the  trouble  of  dryin' it.  But, 
oh,  my  mouth  !  my  month  !"  and  she  put  up  both  hands  to  it,  and 
nioaned  bitterly.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Slick  !  you'll  bo  the  death  of  me  yet ! 
There,"  said  she,  "oh  !  ohl  oh  !  Just  stand  still,  you  and  Sophy, 
for  a  few  minutes,  till  the  spasms  are  over;  for  I  don't  like  people 
15* 


174 


JERICHO     BEYOND    JORDAN. 


!!   ^  til 


to  look  at  mc  when  I  am  in  pain ;"  and  she  walked  on,  holding  down 
her  head,  and  supportin'  her  check,  and  groanin*  enough  to  make 
one's  heart  acho,  till  she  was  some  distance  off;  when  down  went 
both  hands,  and  the  laugh  rang  till  it  echoed  again.  "  You  flattered 
yourself  I  was  hooked,  didn't  you?  Mr.  Slick,  reel  up  your  line; 
You  was  took  in,  and  not  the  little  country  gal  down  to  Jordan  river. 
Good-bye,"  and  off  she  darted  to  the  house. 

"  Reelin'  up  the  line,"  sais  I,  "  puts  me  in  mind.  Miss  Sophy, 
that  I  had  better  go  and  look  arter  my  rod  and  Mary's  salmon. 
What  a  day  of  adventure  it  has  been !  But  all's  well  that  eend's 
well  J  and  I  must  say  it's  the  pleasantest  day  I  ever  spent  in  my 
life.  Don't  you  believe  in  witchcraft  now,  Sophy?  for  I  do;  and 
the  more  I  see  of  one  that  presides  over  Eskisoony,  the  more  I 
am—" 

"  Nonsense !     Go  and  look  after  your  fishing-rod,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


JERICHO   BEYOND  JORDAN. 


11!'   ■) 


As  soon  as  I  had  changed  my  clothes,  I  descended  to  the  sittin'- 
rooni,  and  not  findin'  the  young  ladies,  I  took  up  my  rifle  and 
strolled  out  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house,  where  I  met  little 
Jemmy.  Some  books  and  music  that  I  had  found  in  my  bed-room, 
had  awakened  my  curiosity,  and  made  me  feel  kinder  jealous,  so  I 
thought  I  would  pump  the  young  gentleman  : 

"Jemmy,"  says  I,  "let's  go  and  look  at  the  colts  in  the  pastur', 
I'll  give  you  a  lecture  on  hoss-flesh."  As  we  strolled  along,  I  said, 
"  who  is  Mr.  Maxwell  ?" 

"  He  is  the  curate,"  said  he, 

"  Does  he  come  here  often  ?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Sir,  he's  here  a  good  deal;  and  always  stays  here  when 
there's  church  on  the  river." 

^  Going  to  be  married,  aint  he  ?"  sais  I. 

"Folks  say  so,  Sir;  but  I  don't  know." 

Well,  it's  strange ;  all  I  cared  about  was,  whether  it  was  Sophy, 
but  even  to  that  little  boy  I  couldn't  get  out  the  words;  for  when  a 
feller  don't  half  acknowledge  his  own  secret  to  himself,  he  don't  like 
to  let  another  know  what  is  passin'  in  his  mind.  So  sais  I,  "  It's 
Mary,  isn't  it?" 

"They  say  so,  Sir." 

Well,  thinks  I,  that's  a  puzzle.  Men  sometimes,  afore  others, 
pretend  to  court  th'^  wrong  one,  to  put  folks  off  the  scent ;  so  I  aint 
much  wiser. 


mi 


wnmmmmmpm 


JERICHO     BEYOND     JORDAN, 


176 


"Well,  what  does  papa  say  to  all  this?" 

"Why,  Sir,  he  sais  'they  must  wait  till  he  gets  a  church  to 
himself/  " 

Well,  that's  a  load  oflf  u)y  mind,  thinks  I;  that  accounts  for  hei 
ouresarved  manner.  She  knows  her  free  and  easy  way  wont  bo  set 
down  to  wrong  motives.  High  spirits  in  a  gall  is  dangerous  things, 
that's  a  fact.  It's  lucky  she  lives  in  the  country ;  but  then  I  do 
suppose  in  a  town  she  would  soon  bo  h;iltcr-brokc,  and  travel  more 
steadily,  and  not  prance  so  much.  What  on  earth  do  you  suppose 
could  make  a  minister  pick  out  such  a  playful,  rollickin',  frollickin* 
critter  as  that  for  a  wife  ?  But  Sophy — come  out  with  it — ask  the 
boy  about  her. 

"Well,  Sophy,"  sais  I,  "is  sIkj  goin'  to  be  married,  too?  I  hope 
not,  for  your  father  would  be  dreadful  lonely  hero,  with  only  Aunt 
Thankful  to  keep  house  for  him." 

"No,  Sir,"  said  Jemmy,  "I  guess  not;  I  don't  think  it.  There 
was  an  army  officer  hero  this  time  last  year." 

"  The  devil  there  was  !"  .^^ais  I.  "  Stop,  Jemmy,"  for  I  felt  savi- 
gcrous,  and  wanted  to  sec  if  my  hand  was  in.  "  Do  you  see  that 
red-coated  rascal  of  a  squirrel  there  ?  Where  shall  I  hit  him  ?  I'll 
Bcalp  him."  And  I  fired,  and  just  stripped  up  the  skin  of  his  fore- 
head. "  Warn't  that  prettily  done,  Jemmy  ?  Didn't  I  spile  that 
officer's  courtin'  for  him,  that  hitch?" 

"What  officer.  Sir?" 

"  Captain  Squirrel." 

"That  wasn't  his  name,  Sir.     It  was  Captain  Tyrrell." 

"Oh,  I  only  meant  to  joke  about  this  little  varmint,"  sais  I; 
"it's  the  way  all  friskin',  chatterin',  dancin'  fellers  like  them  should 
bo  sawed.  I  warn't  talkin'  of  an  officer.  Well,  what  did  the 
Captindo?" 

"  Well,  he  wanted  to  marry  our  Sophy;  and  he  got  aunty  on  his 
fcide,  and  father  consented,  and  Mary  coaxed,  but  Sophy  wouldn't 
hear  to  it  on  no  account,  and " 

"Gave  him  the  mitten,"  sais  I,  laughin'. 

"What's  that.  Sir?" 

"Why,  my  boy,  when  I'm  cordial  with  a  feller,  I  take  off  the 
mitten,  and  shake  hands  with  him ;  when  I  ain't,  I  don't  take  the 
trouble,  but  just  give  him  the  mitten.  Sophy  is  a  sensible  girl," 
sais  I. 

"  So  Mr.  Maxwell  said,  Sir.  But  he's  the  only  one  among  'em 
thinks  so." 

"  What  the  deuce  has  he  got  to  do  with  Sophy  ?"  4*.^,-^;. 

"  Why,  Sir,  he  said  somethin'  about  bein'  dragged  fmto  Dan  to 
Beersheba,  but  I  didn't  understand  it."  Just  then  ihe  shell  blew 
to  summon  us  to  dinner.  Well,  I  felt  now  considerable  ^sy  in  my 
mind,  and  took  a  great  likin'  to  the  boy,  and  began,  all  at  once,  to 


ip> 


I  if 


II 


1  It^' 


m  I 

4iii  Mil 


'   :i  I 


li'i  ill  'I 


lie 


J  K  II I  C  II  0     B  E  Y  0  N  L>     J  0  II  V  A  N  . 


feel  oncommon  generous.  1  toM  him  1  luid  a  beautiful  little  siugle- 
barrel  partridire  gun  on  bo.ird  that  I  would  give  him,  and  a  p'lwdor- 
flask  and  shot-belt,  and  that  he  must  learn  to  shoot,  for  it  was  a 
great  thing  to  bt*  a  good  marksman.  I'heni's  noihin'  like  bein'  the 
bearer  of  good'  news.  A  feller  that  rides  express  with  that  is  always 
well  received.  If  you  carry  niisfortunnte  tidin's  to  a  man,  he  always 
looks  at  you  artcrwards  with  a  shudder.  It's  strange  that  your 
friends,  tho*,  like  tht>  last  job  the  best.  They  arc  amazin'  kind  in 
tellin'  unkind  things  that  has  been  said  of  you.  Well,  after  dinner 
was  over,  and  we  returned  to  the  sittin'-rcK^n,  the  i-aptin  havin'  asked 
to  be  excused  for  a  few  minutes  to  issue  sotno  indispensable  orders  to 
his  men,  I  was  left  alone  again  with  my  twn  young  friends. 

What  I  am  goin'  to  set  down  here,  8(juire,  don't  show  me  to 
advantage,  that's  a  fact;  but  what  in  the  n'lU-ld's  the  use  of  a  false 
journal!!'  Who  would  read  it  if  ho  dovd>ted  it?  1  know  people  say 
I  praise  myself  in  my  books,  and  cr'.ck  them  up  too,  and  call  me 
consaitcd,  and  say  I'm  a  bit  of  a  brag,  and  all  that.  Well,  I  won't 
say  I  aint  open  to  that  charge,  lor  boastin'  comes  as  natural  to  us 
Yankees  as  seratchin'  does  to  Scotchmen — it's  in  tho  blood.  ^)Ut  if 
I  miss  a  figure  sometimes  (and  who  don't  when  he  totes  u^  i  lon^ 
column  of  life?)  I'm  will  in'  to  say  so.  We  /ind  it  c(hy  enot^jh  io 
direct  others  to  (he  right  road^  hut  ice  can't  a/ways  Jind  it  oarsdva 
when  we're  on  the  ground.  We  can  see  plain  enough  wlien  our 
acquaintances  want  advice,  but  wo  aint  so  clear-sighted  in  our  own 
case.  If  ever  you  was  bilious,  you've  noiieed  little  black  specks  a 
floatin'  about  in  the  air  before  you  just  like  gnats,  and  a  very  bo- 
therin'  thing  it  is.  You  rub  your  peepers  hard,  and  take  a  kind  of 
strain  with  them  to  get  rid  of  the  nuisance,  but  it's  no  go;  and  you 
try  cold  applications  to  them,  but  it  don't  do  no  good.  It  aint  the 
eye,  it's  the  stomach  that's  wrong.  AVell  now,  them  specks  are  to 
be  found  in  the  mind's  eye,  too.  They  are  pride,  eons^.iit,  avarice, 
spoonyness,  rivalry,  and  all  sorts  of  black  things,  and  the  mental 
vision's  obscured.  It  isn't  that  the  mind  aint  strong,  but  that  it  aint 
well  regulated.  I  don't  know  whether  you  will  take  my  meanin'  or 
not,  for  it  aint  just  easy  to  describe  it.  The  fact  is;  I'm  lookin'  out 
for  a  wife,  and  courtin'  is  new  to  me ;  and  if  I  move  awkward,  I 
suppose  I  aint  the  first,  by  a  long  chalk,  that's  felt  the  want  of  a 
dancin '-master. 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  said  Mary,  "there  is  one  thing  I  forgot  to  ask  you." 

"  What  is  that?"  said  1.     "  Come,  pop  the  question." 

"Are  you  married  since  we  saw  you?" 

"Well,"  sais  I,  "you  little  dear,  I  should  have  thought  it  a 
strange  question,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  what  I  had  heard  from 
Jemmy." 

I  cast  a  sly  look  at  Sophy  to  see  if  she  took  any  interest  in  the 
answer;  but  she  was  busy  with  some  crotchet  work,  and  jist  thca 


JERICHO     IIK  YONI)     JOHDAN. 


177 


■ot  to  ask  you." 


limltolx)k  close  down  to  it  to  t;iko  up  a  .stitch  that  was  dropped. 
There's  uo  gettiu'  ft  look  at  a  gall'.s  face  when  the  riglit  time  to  road 
it  comes,  that's  a  fact.  When  you  do  read  it,  you  want  the  light  of 
the  two  eyes,  like  two  caudles,  to  ,sliow  the  text  and  study  the  con- 
text. Somehow  th(!y  do  manage  to  throw  'em  in  the  shade  like 
exactly  at  that  tinu%  so  that  all  you  can  do  is  to  guess.  ComrnlmoU 
tii  i/iii/t.     IIi(/i'n'  f/io)if/hts,  like  fn't/iit'  (hui(/s,  ahoics  thrre's  a  aecn-t. 

"Well,"  sais  T,  "it's  a  very  nateral  question  for  you  to  ask  ;  and, 
now  I  think  on  it,  I  ought  to  have  told  you  before,  especially  artcr 
all  that  has  passed.     (Juess  now,  am  I  spliced  or  notl"' 

"  Kinder  sort  of  so,"  said  she,  "and  kinder  sort  of  not  so.  It 
looks  as  if  you  were  married,  scein'  that  you  can  afford  to  be  impu- 
dent; and  it  looks  as  if  you  wasn't  married,  scein'  that  you  think 
uiore  of  yourself — " 

"Than  anybody  else  does/*  sais  I;  "finish  the  sentence  out.  "Well 
done.  Miss!  I  reckon  you  can  afford .  something  as  well  as  others 
can  " 

"  [  wasn't  a-goin'  to  say  that,"  she  replied,  "I  was  goin'  to  say 
"hnore  than  you  think  of  others.'" 

Sophy  worked  hard  but  said  nothin',  but  1  consaitcd  she  didn't 
work  (juite  as  fast  as  before. 

"Well,  Mary,"  said  I,  "you've  guessed  right  this  time.  You've 
actilly  hit  it ;  somebody  must  have  tohl  you." 

"Hit  what'/"  said  she,  "I  haven't  guessed  nothin'." 

"(Juess  agin'  then,"  said  I. 

"No  I  won't,"  she  said,  "  it  aint  worth  .>gucssin' ;  it's  nothin'  to 
me." 

"Nor  to  me  either,"  said  I,  "so  we'll  drop  a  subject  no  one  wants 
to  talk  about.  They  tell  me  the  young  curate  is  a  very  nice  man, 
that  came  here  lately,  and  that  he  sings  like  a  nightingale 

"  •  Meet  me  by  moonlight  alono, 
And  then  I  will  tell  thee  a  talc.' 

I  saw  that  song  of  his  on  the  table  in  my  room  up-stairs.  Come, 
f'ing  it  with  me,  unless  you  caught  cold  to-duy.  I'll  talk  to  you 
about  him,  it's  a  subject  that  will  interest  one  of  us  at  any  rate.  Oh  ! 
kSophy,  don't  tell  him  about  that  dip  in  the  pool." 

"Come,"  said  she,  "Mr.  Slick,  come,  you're  not  a-goin'  to  put  mo 
cir  with  any  such  nonsense  about  the  curate  and  his  songs,"  and  she 
got  belli nd  my  chair. 

Soiiiethin'  to  hide  there,  sais  I  to  myself,  a  blush  that  tells  tales, 
a  confusion  that  confounds,  a  surprise  that's  too  (juick  to  be  checked. 

"  How  damp  your  hair  is,  Mr.  Slick,"  she  said,  pattin'  it;  "come 
now.  gi\e  a  civil  answer  to  a  civil  (juestion." 

She  was  not  aware  that  that  posture  brought  her  before  a  largo 
looking-glass  that  Idled  nearly  all  the  space  between  the  two  windows. 


f  fVW 


it 


I 


w. 


Ill' 


I 


■i 


'  I! 


til!    41 


178 


JERICHO     BEYOND    JORDAN, 


ITor  faco  wns  oovcrod  with  blushes  of  the  deepest  dye,  and  as  Sophy 
looked  up,  r  saw  by  tlie  motions  of  her  arm  in  the  glass  that  she 
was  shakin'  her  little  fist  at  her. 

"Well,  siiis  I,  "Miss,  I  thought  it  was  liigh  time  some  one  should 
take  charge  of  thiogs,  so  I  jist  made  up  my  mind  at  onst,  and  took 
a  mate  J  and  this  I  will  say,  a  liandsomcr  one  ia  not  to  be  found  any- 
wlicre.  I  was  jist  a-goin'  to  ask  leave  of  your  father  to  go  on  board 
for  the  purpose  of  an  introduction  " 

"  Wliy,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  Mary,  "you  flirtin',  rompin',  rollickin, 
naughty  man.  Is  that  the  way  you're  goin'  to  break  your  poor  dear 
handsome  little  wife's  heart,  and  make  it  thump  like  a  clock 
strikin'?" 

Sophy  placed  her  nettin'  and  both  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and 
lookin'  up  considerable  composedly,  but  a  little  grain  paler  than  be- 
fore, said:  "There  was  no  occasion  for  all  this  ceremony,  Mr.  Slick; 
if  you  think  we  are  only  glad  to  see  our  single  friends,  you  form  a 
wrong  estimate  of  us.  \Ve  are  always  delighted  to  receive  both, 
JSir." 

That  word  Sir,  the  way  she  pronounced  it,  was  like  apple-saroe 
t*)  the  goose,  not  a  bad  accompaniment,  and  to  be  taken  together 
arter  that. 

"  Mary,  tell  father  iMr.  Slick  is  married,  and  has  his  wife  on  board, 
and  if  he  will  come  with  us,  we'll  go  down  and  invite  her  up.  This 
is  ((uite  an  onexpectcd  pleasure.  Sir."  But  the  Sir  this  time  hud 
more  of  the  tart  in  it,  like  cranberry  sarce. 

"Mary,"  sais  I,  "  what  in  the  world  are  you  at?  are  you  a-goin' 
to  break  my  heart  ?  are  you  tryin'  to  drive  me  mad  ?  Tell  your 
father  no  such  a  thing.  I  not  only  never  said  I  was  married,  but 
didn't  even  say  there  was  a  woman  on  board.  I  said  I  had  a  niato 
there,  and  so  I  have,  and  a  rael  handsome  one  too,  and  so  he  is,  for 
he's  the  handsomest  man  in  the  American  marchant  sarvice." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Slick!"  said  Mary,  "not  married  arter  all!  Well,  I 
declare  if  that  aint  too  bad  !     Oh  !  how  sorry  I  am  !'* 

"  Why  so,  dear  ?"  sais  I. 

"  Because  I  was  a-goin*  to  set  on  the  old  gentleman's  knee,  put 
my  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  give  him  a  kiss  to  tell  me  a  story." 

"Why,  Mary!"  said  Sophy. 

"Fact,  dear,"  she  replied ;  "I'll  never  take  any  mote  interest  in 
him.  He's  the  most  forred,  consaited,  bewhiskered,  and  bebearded 
Yankee  doodle-dandj'  I  ever  saw. 

As  she  was  passin'  out  of  the  room,  I  anticipated  her  by  steppin' 
before  her,  and  placin'  my  back  to  the  door. 

"So  that's  the  way  you  sarve  the  curate,"  sais  I.  "When  ho 
reads  the  words  from  the  book,  '  dearly  beloved,'  don't  they  sound 
musical  'i" 


J  E  R  1  C  11  O    BEYOND    JORDAN. 


ITO 


like  apple-saroe 


man's  knee,  put 
mo  a  story." 


her  by  steppin 


And  tbcn  I  sang  her  the  verse  of  another  song 

«•  *  Oil  1  my  hpiirt,  my  heart  h  breaking 
For  tho  lovo  of  Alio«  Groy.' " 

I  saw  it  among  the  old  music  on  my  table. 

There's  no  piniiin'  up  a  woinaii  in  a  corner,  unless  she  wants  to  be 
caught — that's  a  fact  —  and  have  the  bridle  put  on.  So  she  just 
etlgtMl  to  tho  open  window,  and  out  in  no  time. 

Instead  of  returnin'  to  njy  seat,  I  sat  down  by  Sophy. 

"What  a  lively,  merry  little  thing  your  sister  is?"  said  I.  "I 
hope  she  will  be  happy." 

"Siie  is  happy." 

"  Yes,  but  I  hope  she  will  be  happy  with  tho  curate." 

"  Who  told  you  that  gossipin'  story?"  she  said. 

"The  same  person,"  said  J,  "that  informed  me  about  the  wi'ch 
of  Eskisoony." 

"In  tho  iirst,"  she  said,  "there  m;iy  be  somethin',  in  the  last 
nothin' ;  and  I  shall  feel  obliged  by  your  not  montionin*  either 
before  my  father.  Nicknames  stick  to  people,  and  the  most  ridicu- 
lous (ire  the.  most  adhesire." 

"  Sophy  !"  said  I,  tryin'  to  take  her  hand. 

"  Don't  you  see  I  am  nettin'  ?"  she  said  ;  "and  that  requires  both 
hands.    You're  not  a-goin'  to  take  leave  so  soon  ;  are  you  ?" 

"Take  leave  !"  said  I;  "  no,  what  put  that  into  your  head." 

"Well  then,"  she  said,  "what's  the  use  of  shukin'  hands  till 
then  ?"  and  she  looked  up  and  smiled,  and  left  out  the  word  Sir, 
and  its  vinegary  sound. 

After  a  second  or  two,  she  laid  her  nettin'  down  on  her  lap,  and 
laughed  like  anythin'. 

"  How  completely  you  took  in  Mary  !"  said  she  ;  "  didn't  you  ?" 

"Was  you  taken  in  ?"  sais  I,  "Sophy,  dear,"  and  I  slipped  her 
hand  into  mine,  and  she  left  it  there. 

She  did't  lay  down  her  nettin*  on  purpose  that  I  should  take  what 
Bhe  didn't  appear  to  give.  Oh  !  of  course  not,  that  wouldn't  be 
natur'. 

"  Here's  father,"  said  she,  drawin'  back  her  hand  gently,  goin'  on 
again  with  the  nettin',  and  just  shovin'  her  chair  a  little  further  off, 
by  accident  like,  as  she  stooped  to  pick  up  her  handkerchief;  "per- 
haps he  will  go  for  your  Quafe." 

^Vell  it  was  vexatious — that's  a  fact. 

"  I  wish,"  sais  I,  "  that  all  tho  fathers,  brothers,  sisters,  and 
mates  in  the  univarsal  world  were  in  tho  North  Pole." 

She  had  just  time  to  look  up  and  smile. 

And  oh  !  what  a  sight  there  is  in  that  word — smile — for  it  changes 
colour  like  a  cameleou.  There's  a  vacant  smile,  a  cold  smile,  a  satiric 
Bmile,  a  smile  of  hate,  an  affected  smile,  a  smile  of  approbation,  a 


ttiggatktmmm 


■EUUrUJHRAia 


180 


JERICHO  BEYOND  JORDAN. 


I.  'i 


friendly  smilo,  but,  abovo  all,  a  smile  of  love.  A  looman  has  two 
smi/es  Unit  <ni  (tiijel  inifjhi  rnrrij,  tlir  smifc  tJuit  accepts  the  lover  afore 
worth  are  nttercjj  and  tJic  smile  that  lights  on  tlic  first-born  hahi/y 
.and  anaurci  him  of  a  mother' ti  love. 

Sophy  had  just  time  to  look  up  and  smile,  when  he  came  in. 

"  }lr.  Slick,"  said  he,  "  what  do  you  say  to  a  walk  up  to  the 
mill?  I  shall  have  to  be  absent  for  about  an  hour  on  business  there, 
and  it  must  be  dull  music  here  for  you." 

I  believe  every  created  crittur  in  the  world  thinks  that  he's  the 
most  entertainin'  one  on  it,  and  that  there's  no  gettin'  on  anyhow 
without  him,  Consait  yrows  as  natcral  as  the  hair  on  ones  heady 
hut  is  longer  in  comin'  out. 

"Dull!"  sais  I.  "Quite  the  revarse,  I  assure  you.  Barrin'  the 
loss  of  your  company,  I  have  had  a  most  delightful  day  here,  with  the 
young  ladies.  Will  you  let  me  ask  the  Captin  up  this  evening'  ? 
He's  as  fine  a  young  fellow  as  you  ever  see  amost." 

''  Certainly,"  said  he,  "and  any  one  elpe  on  board'that  you  please; 
and  now  I  must  be  a-movin',  and  will  be  back  as  soon  as  possible." 

Thinks  I  to  myself:  Sam,  you'd  better  be  a-movin'  too.  You're 
gettin'  over  head  and  ears  in  love  as  fast  as  you  can,  and  are  as  soft 
as  if  you  never  seed  a  gall  afore.     So  sais  I : 

"  Sophy,  sposin'  Mary  and  you  and  I  take  a  walk  down  to  the 
beach,  and  I  will  .«cnd  a  note  on  board  to  the  Captin." 

And  I  took  out  a  pencil,  and  wrote  him  an  invite.  Well,  as  soon 
as  she  went  to  get  ready,  I  called  i.  .auncil  of  war,  and  held  a  regular 
caucus  meetin'  between  my  head  and  my  heart.  So  I  puts  my  elbows 
on  the  table,  and  claps  my  f  ice  in  my  hands,  and  opened  the  Bession. 
'*Sam,"  sais  I,  "what  do  you  think  of  this  gall  ? 

"  She's  handsome  enouo;li  to  eat. 

"  Will  she  do  for  transplantiu'  to  Slickville  ? 

*'  The  identical  thing. 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ? 

"Well,  that's  exactly  what  I  v- ant  to  kuorr. 

''  Will  she  take  you  ? 

"  It's  more  than  I  can  tell. 

"  You  aint  a  Bluenose. 

"I  am  glad  of  it. 

"  You're  a  clockmaker. 

"  I  aint  ashamed  of  it;  and  if  she  is,  she's  a  fooL 

"You  aint  young. 

"  That's  a  fact. 

"  Not  much  looks  to  brag  on. 

"  Tliat's  true. 

''  And  talk  Yankee  into  the  bargin. 

"I  eau't  help  it. 

"Well,  you've  wrote  books. 


\,  n 


m 


JERICnO    BEYOND    JORDAN. 


181 


c  down  to  tho 


''Let  hf!r  take  the  books  then,  and  leave  me. 

•'  But  aint  she  the  finest  gall  you  ever  did  lay  eyes  on? 

''  Well,  she  is. 

"And  the  sweetest? 

"Lick!! 

"  And  modest,  and  all  that  ? 

•'Yes,  all  that,  and  the  double  of  that  multiplied  by  tsn. 

•^  Up  then,  and  at  her  like  a  man. 

••  What,  give  up  all  my  prudence  ?  Offer  on  half  a  day's  ac- 
quaintance, and  have  all  the  rest  of  my  life  to  find  out  her  faults. 
Wouien  aint  bosses,  and  they  want  to  be  put  thro'  their  paces,  and 
liaviT  their  wind  tried.  If  Tm  took  in,  it  will  be  myself  that  did  it  j 
and  that  aint  like  Sam  Slick,  is  it? 

"  Well,  it  aint,  that's  a  fact. 

"  What  a  cussed  thing  lovo  is  !  It  puts  you  m  a  twiti«ration  all 
over  just  when  you  ought  to  be  cool,  and  turns  a  wise  man  into  a 
born  fool.  Sleep  on  it.-  You've  just  hit  it,  sai;-  I.  Now  you  talk 
sense ;  you're  gettin'  to  be  yourself  agin.  Sposen  she  falls  in  love 
with  the  handsome  Captin. 

That  thought  sent  all  tho  blood  in  my  body  to  ray  heart,  until  it 
nearly  bust,  and,  forgetiin'  that  I  was  talkiu'  to  myself,  I  struck  the 
table  with  my  list,  imd  ript  right  out: 

"  By  the  tnrnal,  I'll  throw  him  overboard,  or  cut  him  up  for 
mackarel-bait,  I  will  by — " 

<'Why,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  Sophy,  just  then  tappin'  me  on  the 
shoulder,  "what  on  earth  is  the  matter?  How  dreadfully  pale  you 
look  !     I'm  quite  frightened  !     What  is  it  ?" 

"Nothiu',"  sais  I,  *'dear,  but  an  affection  of  the  heart." 

"  Arc  you  subject  to  it?"  said  she. 

I  throw  all  the  expression  I  could  into  my  eyes — but  I  guess  they 
looked  more  like  those  of  a  boiled  codfish,  than  anythin'  else,  for 
there  was  no  blood  cireulatin*  in  my  head — and  gave  her  as  sweet  a 
look  as  I  could,  tho'  I  have  no  doubt  it  looked  like  that  of  a  dyin' 
calf. 

'•  No,"  sais  I,  "  Sophy.  I  never  knew  what  that  was  till  this  day. 
1  feci  better  now." 

"Take  this,"  she  raid,  pourin'  out  a  tumbler  of  cold  water,  "it 
will  do  you  good.     It  will  soon  pass  off." 

Oh,  how  hoppin'  mad  that  made  me !  I  didn't  observe  that  a 
Kller  that's  courtin's  as  blind  as  a  bat— and  I  didn't  notice  that  she 
didn't  take  the  pint.  The  fact  is,  she  was  too  frightened ;  so,  sais 
i,  "Oh,  by  all  means.  Miss  Tyrrel  —  wood,  there's  nothin'  like 
tiirowin'  cold  water  on  it !  When  a  man's  too  ardent,  there's 
nothin'  like  icin'  him  dov/n  to  the  right  pint !" 

"  Vv'hy,  what's  this?"  hslvI  Mary,  who  came  in  now,  ready  for  a 
walk  to  the  shore.     " 3ophy,  what  on  airth's  tho  matter?" 
IG 


'•|'''  jii; 


i.'*.^' 


t^ 


182 


JEUTCIIO    BEYOND    JORDAN. 


"  Can't  tell,"  she  said.  "  All  I  know  is,  Mr.  Slick  is  very  ill, 
and  I'm  very  much  frisjlitencd.     I  wis<h  papa  wa.s  hero." 

"Mary,  dear,"  suis  T,  'Til  explain  it  all  to  you.  I've  been  an 
invalid  lately  :  it's  tliat  that's  caused  me  to  travel,  and  not  business  ; 
for  I've  more  tneans  than  I  can  make  a  good  use  of."  (I  thought 
I'd  just  throw  in  by  accident  like,  that  hint  about  means,  for  motu^y 
aint  Kcotch-snuff,  it  never  makes  folks  sneeze.)  "  And  I  didn't 
know  that  I  was  as  weak  as  I  am.  The  excitement  has  been,  too 
much  for  me.  I'm  a  calm  man  in  a  general  way  ;  but  I  never  had 
80  delightful  a  day  as  this  in  my  life.  I  have  had  both  he;i(l  and 
heart  turned,  and  have  suffered  for  it !  But  as  I  shall  never  sec 
such  another  day  while  I  live,  so  I  shall  never  suffer  that  same  way. 
I  tlumght  my  heart  would  bust;  but  it's  all  over  now.  \  i'vcl  tiie 
blood  comin'  back  to  my  face.  I'll  take  another  dose  of  Hophy's 
prescription,"  (filUn'  out  another  tumbler  of  cold  water,  and  drinkin' 
it  off).     "  And  now,  fair  ladies,  I'm  at  your  service  for  a  walk." 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Slick,"  said  Mary,  ^'  it's  all  my  doins  !  It  all  comes 
from  divin'  into  the  river  after  me,  and  it  has  brought  on  an  ague. 
You're  actilly  tremblin'  now  !" 

•'I  assure  you,  INIiss,"  sais  I,  "you  had  no  hand  in  it  whatever. 
]jondon  life  has  made  me  forget  what  T  was,  and  what  I  am,  what  I 
can  do,  and  what  I  can't." 

I  east  my  e^e  sideways  towards  Sophy,  and  I  saw  a,  new  light 
was  breaking  in  upon  her,  for  a  little  comin'  and  goin'  of  colour,  and 
a  restless  eye,  showed  she  was  thin  kin'  and  feclin'  too,  so,  sais  1, 
"now  ladies;"  and  wo  set  off  to  saunter  to  the  beach. 

"  I  ought  to  have  thought  of  the  (!!aptin  before,"  I  said,  "  but 
that  comes  of  leiu'  sellish,  and,  perhaps,  who  knows,  a  little  jeal- 
ous, for  I  wanted  to  have  you  all  to  myself,  and  he  is  the  linest 
feller  I  ever  saw.  His  father  was  a  eku-gyman,  and  he  is  a  scholar 
and  a  gentleman,  and  far  above  the  condition  in  life  he  is  in  ;  better 
informed,  better  lookin',  and  in  every  way  superior  to  a  travellin' 
clockmakur  like  me ;"  and  I  spoke  that  word  bitterly.  '^  I'll  pre- 
mise him,  Suphy,  neither  to  throw  him  overboard,  or  cut  him  into 
bait  for  mackerel  now ;  that  foolish  and  wicked  thought  is  gone  ft)r 
ever.     I  think  you'll  like  him." 

''  Not  if  he  talks  as  bitterly  as  you  do,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  slu;  whose 
arm  T  felt  tremblin'  inside  of  mine. 

••  And  now,  ladies,  I've  a  little  pet  scheme  in  my  head." 

"To  help  you  cut  him  up  for  bait,  I  suppose?"  said  Sophy, 
"  What  a  shockin'  idea  !" 

"Mr.  Slick,"  said  Mary.  "T  wouldn't  m;uTy  you  fn'  the  world." 

"You're  not  the  only  one  that  wouldn't,"  said  T,  j)ressiii'  Sophy 'h 

Urm.      '•'  But  what  hav*'   I  dotie  to  be  reji'cted  bcf  ire  I  asked  you  i* 

That  aint  u  mareiful  use  of  bi'auty,  is  it  Sophy  y     [f  I  was  to  tell 


-nniM.-  -  i&ir-t-i1t»ri-\' 


.IE?.  rClIO     BEYOND    JORDAN. 


183 


,i(l  slu!  whose 


hor  thiit  I  had  n  little  church  of  my  own,  perhaps  she'd  think  kinder 
of  inc." 

]^ut  Mary  pretend  in*  n<it  to  hear  me  saved  her  the  reply,  by  goin*  on; 

''  Because  you  arc  jealous." 

"You  don't  kuow  uic,  Miss,  or  you  wouldn't  say  that.  I  neVei 
saw  Mr.  Maxwell,  therefore  how  can  I  be  jealous  V 

She  looked  inquirinly  at  Sophy,  to  ascertain  if  she  had  betrayed 
her,  and  I  went  on. 

"  I  never  knew  what  love  was  but  once,  and  I  hope  I  never  shall 
agin  ;  and  to  keep  out  of  the  scrape  I  never  will  even  talk  of  it. 
So  I  can't  be  jealous.  IJut  now  that  you  see  what  a  safe  man  I  am, 
I  hope  you  will  both  help  nio  to  carry  out  my  pet  scheme,  and  you 
jiiust  help  mo  soon,  or  it  will  be  too  late,  for  I  embark  to-ni^ht,  or 
at  day  dawn  in  the  mornin'.  I  want  your  father  to  conui  and  visit 
us  at  SlickvJlle,  and  bring  you  both  with  him  (not  to  visit  me,.  I 
have  no  such  vanity,  but  my  sister  Sally,  the  dearest,  the  sweetest, 
best  sister  man  ever  had).  Now  don't  say  no,  Sophy.  Tho'  I 
won't  make  love,  and  render  myself  ridiculous,  and  persecute  others, 
I  can  make  a  visit  pleasant  to  you  bnlli,  and  will  go  cverythin'  in  my 
power  to  do  so.     What  do  you  say  'f" 

"  If  my  father  will  go  I  .should  like  to  see  the  States  very  much," 
fche  replied;  "but  ['m  afraid  \\\rr(\  mi!j;ht  be  some  difficulty." 

"Oh!  I  uiuh-rstand,"  sais  I,  "about  the  curate.  The  invitation 
shall  indudi!  him  too." 

"Oh!  Mr.  Slick,"  said  Mary,  "how  very  kind!  I  shall  be 
delighted,  (-ome,  sit  down  here  on  this  bench.  Give  me  the  note. 
I  will  give  it  to  that  Inty  that's  gettin'  into  the  boat;  and,  Mr. 
Slick,  coa.x.  Sophy  out  of  her  dilficuUii!S.     She's  a  great  prude." 

l^ausin'  a  moment,  and  lookin'  earnest  at  us  both,  she  said  : 

"There's  a  screw  loose  between  you  two.  I*ut  it  right,  jMr. 
Slick;  and  if  you  can't,  give  her  another  lesson  in  fly-lisliin'." 

And  away  slie  ilew,  as  merry  aTid  as  light-hearted  as  a  bird. 

"  Sophy,"  said  1,  "  fni  glad  to  have  an  o])portunity  to  beg  pardon 
for  my  rudeness.  The  excitement  of  tho  mornin',  and  the  tln^ught 
of  partin'  this  evcnin,'  upsot  nu;,  and  1  hardly  knew  what  I  said  or 
diii." 

"  Mr.  Slick,  I  will  not  hv  prudish,"  said  she.  "  I  really  did  mis- 
understand the  nature  of  your  complaint,"  and  she  smiled,  "that 
caused  you  to  say  what  you  dirl.  Now  I  comprehend  it  all.  'i'liG 
struggle  you  was  undergoin'  did  great  credit  to  your  feelins'." 

"  \Ve  are  IViends  auaiu,  I  hope — good  friends  —  warm  fiiends. 
And—"  sais  1. 

"And,"  said  she,  looking  mo  steadily  in  the  face,  "attached 
fn'nuh." 

Thinks  I  to  myself:  Take  what  you  can  get,  Sam.  If  you 'go  in 
for  more,  you  may  lose  all.     "  Now  for  the  visit." 


ISl 


JERICHO     BEYOND    JORDAN. 


1 


E;.  :!1 


ilMI 

ft  li 


«s: 


i;  iiiil 


;|  ■< 


"  Mr.  Slick,  knowia'  what  I  do  know,  there's  a  delicn-'y  that 
makes  the  ditlicultv  almost  insunnonntable." 

'*  I'll  reiuovc  that,"  sais  I,  "  at  once.  I  will  never  mention,  or  so 
much  as  allude  to,  what  has  taken  place  to-day,  durin'  your  wht>lQ 
visit  to  Slickville.  It  would  have  been  unkind,  and  unfair,  and 
iiihospitable." 

*'  That's  very  handsome,  Sir,"  she  said.  "  I'll  answer  for  my 
father.  We  shall  have  great  pleasure  in  goin'.  Fix  the  time  with 
liini.     Here's  Mary." 

"  Mary  I"  sais  I,  lookin'  at  Sophy.  "  Don't  she  look  more  beau 
tiful  than  ever,  noAv  she  has  done  a  gracious  thing.  She  has  con- 
Bented  to  come  to  Slickville." 

"Ah!"  she  said,  "that's  fly-fishin'.  There's  nothin'  like  fly. 
lishin',  is  there,  Sophy?" 

"There  was  nothin'  like  fly-fishin',  I  can  assure  you." 
"Oh!  of  course  not.     lie   don't  know  how,  and  you  are  too 
prudish  to  show  him.     I  never  was  so  happy  in  all  my  life.     I 
shan't  sleep  a  wink  to-night  for  thinkin'  of  Slickville.     Will  you, 
Sophy?" 

"i  hope  so,  dear.     I  know  of  nothin'  to  keep  me  awake." 
"Nor   1  either,"   said    I,    "except  the   mortification  that   Mary 
refused  me  before  she  was  asked." 
In  this  way,  we  entered  the  house. 

"Mr.  Slick,"  said  Mary,  bringin'  mo  a  sheet  of  paper,  "give  me 
gome  idea  of  the  kind  of  lookin'  place  yours  is  at  Slickville,  for  it 
will  often  be  the  subject  of  my  thoughts  and  dreams." 

"  1  have  my  sketch-book  with  me  up-stairs,  and  everythiu'  that 
interests  me  is  there.     1  will  go  and  get  it." 

When  1  returned,  1  found  my  old  friend.  Aunt  Thankful,  the 
eldest  sister  of  Mr.  Collingwood,  had  joined  the  party.  I  had  not 
seen  her  since  my  arrival  at  the  house,  but  she  seenud  to  me  the 
only  unaltered  person  in  it.  Younger  she  couldn't  be  in  the  natur' 
of  things,  but  she  was  not  a  day  older,  and  was  dressed  in  the  same 
antiquated  style  as  when  I  last  saw  her.  She  asked  me  the  same 
questions  as  of  old.  She  in(|uircd  how  poor  father  and  mother,  and 
dear  old  Minister  was.  Well,  they  were  all  dead,  and  I  didn't  like 
to  shock  her,  and  I  told  her  they  were  quite  well  when  I  last  saw 
them.  It  distressed  me  dreadful,  and  the  poor  girls  hung  their 
heads  and  were  distressed,  too.  Well,  I  sheered  ofl'  as  soou  as  I 
OOuld,  and  opened  the  portfolio. 

"Oh,  Soph\,  look  here  !"  said  Mary,  "  isn't  this  a  beautiful  place? 
What  lovely  grounds  you  have!  —  they  are  so  extensive  !  How 
much  money  they  must  have  cost!" 

"  i  learned  the  value  of  time,  dear,  by  measurin'  hours  and  minutes 

80  accurately.     I  worked  for  it,  and  the  bread  of  industry  is  sweet." 

"  Let  me  look  at  it,"  said  Aunt  Thankful,  and  she  put  ou  hef 


'    rt 


JERICnO    BEYOND     JORDAN. 


186 


Bpectaclcs  and  examined  it.  "  Dear  me,"  she  said,  "  how  much  that 
looks  like  Prince  J]dward's  Lodfio,  ou  Bedford  Basin.  The  last  time 
I  was  at  Halifax,  I  was  at  a  ball  there.  Little  did  I  think,  then,  I 
was  talkin'  to  the  father  of  a  future  Queen  of  England ! 

"■ '  Miss  Collingwood/  he  said,  '  you  don't  appear  in  your  usual 
spirits  to-niglit.' 

"  '  Please  your  lloyal  Highness,'  sais  I,  '  it's  the  awful  execution 
to-day!" 

" '  I  assure  you,  Miss  Collingwood,*  said  the  Prince,  *  there  has 
been  no  execution  done  to-day,'  and  he  lowered  his  voice,  '  but  by 
your  beautiful  eyes.' 

"That  was  a  very  flatterin'  speech,  wasn't  it,  from  a  King's  son  ? 
For  there  are  more  eyes  on  them  than  on  other  folks,  which  makes 
them  better  judges. 

"  '  What  do  you  allude  to  ?"  said  his  Royal  Highness. 
"  '  Two  men  shot  for  not  bein'  shaved,  three  for  havin'  a  button 
off  their  coats,  and  the  drum-major  for  havin'  lost  his  queue.' 

"  The  Prince  said  I  was  deceived  j  and  my  father  stormed  and 
raved  like  a  mad-man  when  he  heard  it,  and  said,  if  Mrs.  Fiudlay, 
who  told  me  the  story,  was  a  man,  he'd  shoot  her." 

"Aunt,"  said  Mary,  to  get  rid  of  a  story  that  mortified  them, 
"do  send  Jemmy  off  to  bed  j  see  how  sleepy  he  is,  he  has  just  fallen 
off"  his  chair." 

Poor  girls!  I  pitied  them.  People  have  no  right  to  make  fools 
of  themselves,  tmless  they  have  no  relations  to  blush  for  them. 

"But  what  is  this?"  said  Mary,  when  she  was  relieved  of  her 
aunt;  "  what  a  dear  little  church  !" 

"  It  was  the  church  of  my  poor  old  friend,  Mr.  Hopewell.  After 
the  shepherd  died,  tht   llock  dispersed.     It's  mine  now." 

She  looked  at  me  for  a  minute  or  two  in  most  eloquent  silence. 
I  knew  what  was  passin'  tb-o'  her  mind;  but  she  said  nothin'.  I 
read  her  little  innocent  he  .irt  as  plain  as  a  book  —  and  a  beautiful 
book  it  was  too.  She  cioidnucd  to  regard  it  with  deep  interest  for 
awhile,  and  then  returuain;  to  its  place,  without  another  word;  but 
1  saw  a  tear  in  her  eye.  ss-  she  passed  on  to  the  others. 

"  lUU  what  i~  this !:  said  she.  "  Look  here,  Sophy  !"  as  she  took 
up  a  daguorrotjpe-case  and  opened  it. 

*•  Mary,  dear,"  said  Aunt  Thsmkful,  who  had  returned,  "  Mary, 
dwir,"  and  she  pressed  'he  foreiinger  and  thumb  of  both  hands  on 
her  shoulders,  •'  do  sit  up  straight,  dear.  I  can't  bear  to  see  young 
ladies  stoop  so,  do  you,  Mr.  Maxwell?" 

"  Perhaps  '  she  stoops  to  conquer,'  "  said  ho. 
"  i,"  said  Aunt  Thankful,  "don't  know  what  stoopin'  is,  unless 
his  lloyal — " 

"Well,  aunt,"  said  Mary,  "I'll  sit  as  straight  as  an  arrow,  a  bul- 
ruih,  a  diiU-sorgoant,  a  pike-statf,  tlag-statl",  or  anythiug  you  like,  to 
16* 


i 


s 


^   <? 


'"*'  ''f ''*"'r-''li**''''"  " 


■H 


5C 


JERICHO  BEYOND  JORDAN. 


B 


4    s 


Hf 


i 


31  i  ^ 


j  fh 


<*  t!ii 


I    1  n   17  ji 

<  1 1 


j/Iease  you.  Maxwell, "  said  she,  in  an  under  tone,  "do  for  good- 
ness iiracinus  sake  take  aunty  off,  and  ask  her  about  presarvin'  plums, 
whether  the  stoncH  an^  taken  out,  or  the  seed  from  raspberries.  Or 
whether  it's  true  a  peach-tree  growd  out  of  Major  Andre's  nose 
vAien  he  was  dead." 

"Mary,"  said  he,  "that's  too  bad;  don't  talk  so,  ray  love." 

"  Well  I  won't  ask  you  to  eat  of  the  fruit,"  said  she,  "for  that 
must  be  too  bad;  but  the  story  is  true  nevertheless.  Now  take 
yourself  off,  and  aunty  too.  What  a  beautiful  girl,"  said  Mary, 
takin'  up  again  her  conversation  about  the  daguerrotype  !  "  I  never 
in  my  life  saw  anythin'  so  handsome.  Oh  !  Mr.  Slick,  who  is  that? 
Well  you  are  a  man  of  taste.     Who  is  that?" 

"You've  been  too  quick,"  said  I,  pretendin'  to  look  confused; 
"  guess." 

"Your  lady-love." 

"  Soph},  who  do  you  say?" 

"Some  fine  lady  of  your  acquaintance  in  England,"  said  she, 
slowly. 

"  You  arc  both  out,"  said  I ;  "  it's  only  valuable  as  a  specimen 
of  the  art.  Tt  is  a  beautiful  impression.  I  have  another  of  the 
same  kind  here ;  if  you  will  do  me  the  favour  to  accept  them,  you 
will  confer  a  great  pleasure  on  me,  for  I  did  them  both." 

Turnin'  over  several  sketches  in  the  portfolio,  I  found  it;  and 
presentiu'  the  first  to  Sophy,  I  gave  the  other  to  Mary,  who  said  she 
would  keep  it  as  long  as  she  lived — for  she  dealt  in  strong  terms  — 
to  cufc  her  vanity  when  she  looked  at  it,  and  to  remember  me  by 
also. 

When  she  opened  it,  she  uttered  someihin'  like  a  scream  of 
delight. 

"  Oh  !  this  is  worth  a  dozen  of  the  other;  this  is  just  what  I  do 
want.     Oh  1  Soph}',  look  at  this ;  aint  that  a  grand  likeness  ?" 

It  was  one  of  myself  There  was  somethin'  in  the  little  shuffle 
of  the  cases,  and  in  the  beauty  of  the  one  given  to  Sophy,  that 
kinder  rubbed  her  agin  the  grain.  After  contemplatin'  it  awhile, 
she  said  : 

"  Mr.  Slick,  to  have  a  specimen  there  must  be  a  face;  do  you  set 
so  little  value  on  this  lovely  one,  as  to  part  with  it  so  lightly  'f" 

"I  can  afford  to  part  with  it,"  said  I,  "for  the  original  of  it  ia 
engraved  on  my  heart,  where  it  will  remain  imprinted  for  ever;  for 
she  is  as  pure-minded,  and  as  good  and  affectionace  as  she  is  lovely." 

"Engravings  wear  out  or  get  defaced,"  she  said.  "I  will  not  let 
you  deprive  yourself  of  tl.s  exquisite  miniature  in  a  moraent  of 
thoughtless  kindness,"  and  she  handed  it  back  to  me. 

"  xMary,"  said  I,  "don't  let  it  be  said  that  tins  went  a-beggin'; 
do' you  keep  it.  You  will  love  the  original  when  you  know  it.  That 
lovely  woman,  though  you  would  scarr-ely  believe  it,  is  the  sister  of 


JERICHO  BEYOND  JORDAN 


187 


1 


the  man  you  called  to-day  a  bewhiskercd,  bcbearded  Yankee  doodle- 
dandy.     That  is  sister  Sally." 

Sophy  looked  hurt,  and  I  don't  wonder  at  it.  It  aint  right  to 
play  with  people's  fcelin's  that  way.  So,  sais  I,  to  save  myself  from 
gettin'  the  mitten  I  desarved : 

''  You  arc  quite  right,  Sophy  j  if  that  had  been  a  likeness  of  any 
one  but  a  sister,  a  man  who  would  part  with  it  in  that  way  would 
betray  a  sacred  trust.  I  honour  your  feelin's  more  than  my  own 
behaviour  in  this  matter.  We  can't  look  at  all  those  sketches  now. 
I  will  leave  the  portfolio  with  you  till  you  come  to  Slickville;  if 
there  is  any  you  would  like  to  keep,  select  them.  There  is  one,"  I 
said,  loweriu'  my  voice,  "I  can't  ask  you  to  select,  or  accept;  but 
if  it  shall  be  left  out  by  accident  like,  when  you  leave  home,  I  shall 
be  delighted." 

We  had  a  charmin'  evenin'.  What  the  Captain  and  Maxwell 
said  and  did,  their  journals  will  show ;  mine  is  runnin'  over  already. 
We  had  some  very  good  singin'  and  the  Captin  appeared  to  make 
such  rapid  progress  in  Sophy's  regards,  that  on  one  occasion,  to  teaze 
her,  I  pretended  to  look  grave,  and  asked  her  plainly,  which  she 
preferred;  a  question  that  didn't  please  her  at  all,  for  said  she  : 
"  Mr.  Slick,  how  can  you  be  so  absurd?  Neither." 
"One  of  them,"  said  I,  "must  be  selected,  for  he's  doomed; 
overboard  he  goes  to  a  dead  sartainty,  or  he's  cut  up  for  mackerel 
bait." 

She  couldn't  help  laughin,'  to  save  her  life. 
"  What  an  odd  man,"  she  said,  "you  arc." 

At  another  time  I  suggested  the  propriety,  if  he  complained  of  an 
affection  of  the  heart,  to  prescribe  cold  water  for  him ;  which  she 
said  was  a  very  unfair  and  unkind  remark. 

"1  don't  know,"  sais  I,  "why  he  should  be  exempted,  l/aptain 
Tyrrell  and  I  had  to  swallow  it."  The  look  of  astonishment  she 
gave  me,  was  beyond  all  words  to  describe.  Siie  was  utterly  con- 
founded, and  could  scarcely  speak,  "Sophy,"  sais  I,  "it's  witch- 
craft." 

"I  believe  it  is,"  said  she;  "though  I  hardly  know  what  I  am 
<ayi-.ig." 

"  Sophy,"  and  I  spoke  low,  "we  are  unobserved  now,  the  Captin 
is  takin'  leave,  shake  hands  with  me."  I  gave  her's  a  slight  squeeze, 
and  the  pressure  was  returned.  I  whispered  to  her,  "  A  thousand 
tbuukf,  for  that,"  sais  I.  "  I'll  see  you  again,  before  I  return  to  the 
States." 

At  last,  the  move  became  general,  and  the  Captain  rose  to  go  on 
board,  and  invited  Maxwell  to  accompany  him.  Collingwood,  how- 
ever, would  not  consent  to  such  an  early  separation. 

"  It  is  not  often,"  he  said,  "  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seein'  any  one 
here,  and  you  must  gratify  me  by  stayin'  a  while  longer.     I  ha?e 


^v-S^ 


If 


w 


188 


THREE    TRUTHS    FOR    ONE    LIE. 


not  seen  Slick  for  some  years;  and,  Cnptin,  T  have  not  had  time  yet 
to  iiKike  your  ficcjii-iintiinee.  (V)iuo,  sit  down,  und  let's  have  a  little 
more  chat  l>ofoni  you  ^o.     Sopliy,  order  up  s;oine  supper." 

The  young'  ladies  were  fairly  fixed.  Their  father's  invitation 
didn't  extend  to  thorn.  Aunt  ITotty,  too,  was  in  a  hurry,  and  they 
couldn't  help  thenisolves;  so  they  exchanged  adieus  with  me,  which, 
considerin'  the  onwelcomo  presence  of  their  father  and  the  guests, 
was  as  cordial  and  aflectiouate  as  they  well  could  he. 

As  they  reached  the  door,  Mary  said,  "  Mr.  Slick,  7)uist  you  rcaUi/ 
go  to-morrovsr  ?     Can't  you  spend  one  day  more  with  us?'^ 

I  knew  and  felt  that  I  ought  to  go,  and  said,  I  feared  it  wafj  on- 
possible  to  detain  the  vessel  any  longer 

"  Where  do  you  go  next?"  she  said. 

"What  is  the  name  of  the  nearest  harbour?"  sais  I.  1  knew  as 
well  as  she  did  that  it  was  Port  Jolly ;  but  jist  axed  for  somethin' 
to  say. 

"Jericho,"  she  replied.  ''Don't  you  know  that  this  is  Jordan? 
and  don't  you  know  the  next  is  Jericho  ?  Now,  if  you  won't  stay, 
you  may  just  <jo  to  Jericho  heyond  Jordan  !     So,  good-night  I" 


Villi 


1. 

f 

'I' 

• 

i<4 

ii 

;|!'; 

ll'^' 

^ 

M|^b| 

^^iiUi ,  1 ;  i 

lii! 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
THREE   TRUTHS   FOR   ONE   LIE. 

The  evenings  are  cocl  on  the  southern  coast  of  the  province  until 
late  in  the  spring,  and  although  the  day  had  been  fine,  it  was  found 
if  not  necessary,  at  all  events  agreeable,  to  have  a  fire. 

"I  like  a  fire,"  said  Collingwood,  "it's  a  sociable  thing;  and 
now  the  ladies  have  retired,  suppose  we  draw  up  round  it  and  have 
a  chat." 

"  Slick,"  said  Cutler,  "  what  a  droll  fellow  you  are ;  you  never 
go  anywhere  you  don't  meet  with  an  adventure.  What  a  singular 
incident  that  was  of  Miss  Collingwood  falling  into  the  river,  and  her 
instantaneous  rescue.  Now,  though  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  wit- 
ness such  an  accident,  I  am  not  the  man  to  have  the  good  fortune  to 
plunge  in  after  a  lady,  and  save  her  life.  All  those  things  fall  to 
your  lot,  but  none  of  them  ever  occur  to  me.  You  only  did  what 
any  man  of  spirit  would  have  done ;  but  tlie  young  lady  took  it  as 
easy  as  a  common  bath.  I  never  knew  an  instance  of  better  spirit. 
I  only  hope  she  may  not  feel  the  effects  of  it,  in  the  shape  of  a  cold." 

"Ah!  my  dear  friend,"  said  I,  "you  don't  understand  the  natur 
of  women  as  well  as  I  do.  Although  they  are  not  endowed  by  natur 
with  the  pame  strength  aa  men,  they  aint  deficient  in  racl  courage, 


THREE    TRUTHS    FOR    ONE    LIE, 


189 


wlien  there  is  need  of  it.  A  woman  that  would  scream  and  fiint  if 
a  mouse  was  fo  run  over  the  kojs  of  her  pi.ino,  couhl  face  fire,  ship- 
wreck, and  de.ith  in  any  shape,  with  a  eahnness  and  coohiess  that 
iidtliiu'  but  faith  in  J^rovidenee  can  give.  I  recollect  a  curious  cir- 
ouiiistance  that  occurred  down  to  Kennebec,  during  the  revolutionary 
war.  I  had  it  from  one  of  the  family.  Old  Capfain  Eldridge  and 
his  son  had  to  leave  homo  one  day  to  attend  a  meotin'  of  the  king's 
fiiends,  and  there  was  nobody  left  in  the  house  but  his  daughter 
Mary  and  a  hired  gall,  both  on  'cm  about  eighteen  years  of  age 
Well,  things  went  on  as  usual  pretty  much  till  about  sundown,  when 
there  was  an  awful  uproar  in  the  yard.  Such  a  yellin'  and  sereumin', 
and  s(jueelin'  and  gruutin',  and  scamperin'  never  was  heard. 

"  '  What  in  natur'  is  all  that,  Sally?"  said  Miss  Eldridge. 

"  '  Lord  only  knows,  i\Iiss,'  said  she,  '  unless  it's  the  rebels  a-seizin' 
of  the  captin's  swine  for  the  fort.  The  cowardly  villaiin  know  that 
the  men-folks  are  all  away,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it'.-  ll^in  taking 
the  ciiance  to  plunder.' 

"  '  Well,  if  the  men  are  all  gone  the  guns  aint,'  siiii  Miss;  'and 
I'll  treat  'em  to  a  shot  at  any  rate.  If  I  don't  hit  'em  I'll  scare 
'em,  for  cowards  don't  like  the  smell  of  powder,  it's  pysou  to  them. 
Let  me  take  a  look  from  the  back  door.  Lord  a'  mercy  on  us,'  said 
she,  'it's  a  monstrous  great  big  black  boar,  a-carryin'  off  the  old  sow 
in  his  arms.  Why  he  stands  seven  feet  high  a-niost  on  his  hind 
legs.  Let's  drive  him  off — follow  me,'  and  she  took  a  brand  of 
buruin'  wood  from  the  kitchen  fire  and  ran  after  the  bear,  wavin'  it 
round  and  round  to  keep  the  blaze  bright,  and  sereamin'  and  shoutin' 
at  the  tip  of  her  voice,  for  wild  varmints  are  awfully  seared  at  fire. 

'•'But  the  bear  v/arn't  so  easily  darnted ;  he  stopt,  turned  round 
his  head,  and  showed  an  awful  row  of  harrow  teeth,  enough  to 
frighten  any  one.  But  on  she  went,  came  up  to  him,  and  fetched 
him  a  blow  of  the  hot,  sparkling,  hard-wood  stick,  full  of  live  coals, 
right  across  his  eyes  and  nose.  It  did  the  business  for  him.  Bruiii 
dropt  the  pig  (that  scampered  off  to  the  sty  roarin'  as  if  clawin' 
waru't  ju«t  quite  as  pleasant  as  ticklin'),  and  then  he  made  for  the 
fence,  which  was  built  of  long  ranging  stuff,  not  trees  nor  poles,  but 
betwixt  and  between  like,  such  as  the  rafters  they  use  fur  scaffolds. 
Well,  the  bear,  who  was  half  blinded  by  the  hot  brand,  tried  to  get 
between  the  logs,  and  .just  as  he  put  his  head  througli,  ]^Iiss  lifts  off 
the  upper  one  and  springs  it  on  his  neck,  and  had  him  fa;5t  ia  a 
minute.  It  just  made  a  trap  like  what  the  Cuba  fellers  call  a  garotte, 
for  stranglin'  of  prisoners. 

''  The  way  he  gave  lip  until  the  woods  rang  again,  and  tore  up  the 
chips  and  grass  and  gravel  with  his  hind  feet,  and  set  them  a-fiyiu' 
in  all  directions,  was  a  caution  to  sinners. 

" '  Sally,'  sais  she,  '  come  here,  and  sit  on  the  eend  of  this  spring 


,,,,«»««. 


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100 


THREE    TRUTHS    FOR    ONE    LIE. 


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pole,  keep  it  down  with  all  your  might,  he  can't  get  out,  he  is  pro 
perly  noosed.' 

"  'Oh  !  I  am  afeord,  Miss,'  said  the  gall,  '  I'm  skoercd  to  death.' 

"  '  Skoerod,  are  you  ?'  sais  she.  '  Now  do  tell.  Well,  I  want  to 
know.  Why]'  How  you  talk?  Well,  just  give  me  your  hand 
then,  that  1  may  take  a  good  jump,  and  we'll  let  hiin  go;  but  it's  a 
pity  too.' 

"  Well,  she  creeped  up  and  creeped  up  over  so  cautious,  keepin' 
one  eye  on  the  beast,  and  the  other  on  the  young  lady,  and  gave  her 
her  hand.  And  what  does  Miss  do,  but  gives  her  a  pull  that  nearly 
fetched  her  a  top  of  IJruin. 

"'Now',  sais  she,  sittin'  of  her  down  on  the  log,  'do  you  hold 
fast,  till  I  go  for  the  earvin'-knife  and  do  for  him.' 

"  '  Oh  !  dear  Miss  Eldridgo,'  sais  she,  '  I  can't.  Oh  !  don't  leave 
me  in  the  jaws  of  this  roarin'  lion,  that's  a  dear  lady — oh !  don't. 

"*  It  aint  a  lion,  Sally  !'  said  she;  '  it's  nothin'  but  a  bear.  Don't 
be  skeercd;  but  don't  stir  for  your  life,  or  the  crittur  will  give  you 
such  a  hug,  Bill  Edwards  will  be  jealous.' 

"  '  Oh  !  be  (|uiuk,  Miss  Mary,  then ;   he's  strugglin'  dreadful  now.' 

"  Well,  she  flew  to  the  house  and  back  agin  with  the  knife  as 
quick  as  wink,  and  passin'  through  the  gate,  got  the  other  side  of 
the  villain,  and  stood  readv  for  action. 

"' Now,  Sally,'  sais  she,  '  hold  on  for  dear  life.  When  he  feels 
the  knife,  he  will  make  a  desperate  splnnge,  and  kirwollop  like  any- 
thin'.     Are  you  remly  ?' 

"'Yes.' 

"'Then  here  goes,'  and  she  drew  the  knife  right  across  his 
throat.  Well,  his  tongue  was  stuck  out  ever  so  far,  his  eyes  flashed 
fire  enough  to  light  up  tlje  fence  aniost,  and  he  fairly  roared  agin 
with  pain.  He  braced  up  against  the  fence  with  his  hind  feet,  and 
managed  to  get  a  small  purchase  for  his  paws,  and  made  a  desperate 
pull  backward  with  all  his  might.  The  move  he  pulled,  the  moro 
he  opened  the  wound,  and  she  got  another  clear  sweep  of  the  knife 
across  the  gash,  and  cut  it  through.  In  the  last  struggle,  he  threw 
his  hind  parts  almost  on  to  Sally,  and  she  screamed,  '  Let  go  !'  and 
he  pulled  out  his  head,  and  arter  her  quick  stick.  But  it  was  no 
go,  Arter  a  jump  or  two,  he  fell,  and  then  he  rose,  and  fell  again, 
and  then  he  got  up,  and  staggered  about  with  his  head  hangin',  and 
fell  heavy,  and  bled  to  death.  He  was  the  largest  bear  ever  seen 
on  the  Kenebec  river.  Well,  some  of  th^;  neighbours  skinned  it 
for  her;  and  what  do  you  think  she  did  with  the  fur?" 

"Made  a  mulf  of  it,"  said  Collingwood. 

"No." 

"Trimmed  a  sleigh  ?" 

"No." 

"  Made  a  counterpane '{" 


THREE     TRUTHS    F<JR    ONE    LIE. 


191 


"No." 

"  A  mat  for  the  bed-side  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Why,  what  on  airth  did  she  do  with  it  then?" 

"  Why,  she  had  the  skin  shaved  close,  and  took  the  "fur  and  spun 
it  into  yarn,  and  vowed,  if  she  married  an  officer  in  the  king's  ser- 
vice, she  would  knit  a  battle-shirt  for  him,  that  ho  might  be  re- 
minded of  the  tourage  of  his  wife;  and  if  she  married  a  civilian, 
and  ever  had  sous,  the  finst  shirt  they  should  ever  put  on  should  be 
one  u)ade  of  the  hair  of  that  biar,  that  they  might  be  brave  and 
victorious  !" 

"  Well,  did  she  ever  marry  ?"  said  the  Captain. 

"  Yes,  she  did,  one  of  the  mildest  and  meekest  of  men,  a  clergy- 
man of  the  Church  of  England,  that  was  settled  arterwards  in  Nova 
Scotia  —  as  good  and  as  peaceable  a  missionary  as  the  society  ever 
employed.     Now,  that's  human  natur  agin." 

"Well,  it  aint  my  idea  of  what's  natcral,"  said  Collingwood,  ''for 
like  seeks  like,  the  brave  like  the  brave  —  birds  of  a  feather  flock 
together.     You  know  who  people  are  by  their  associates." 

"Excuse  me,"  sais  I,  "you've  got  it  wrong.  The  natur  of  mat- 
rimony is  one  thing,  and  the  natur  of  friendship  is  another.  A  tall 
man  likes  a  short  wife;  a  great  talker  likes  a  silent  woman,  for  both 
can't  talk  at  onco.  A  ga  man  likes  a  domestic  gall,  for  he  can 
leave  her  to  home  to  nuss  ehh'lrcn  and  make  pap,  while  he  is  en- 
joyin'  of  himself  to  parties.  A  man  that  hauie  any  n.  isie  in  him, 
likes  it  in  his  spouse,  and  so  on.  It  chimes  beautiful,  for  they  aint 
in  each  other's  way.  Now,  friendship  is  the  'ber  way,  you  must 
like  tL  same  things  to  like  ea<  h  other  and  be  Ir.  'ids.  A  imilarity 
of  tastes,  studies,  pursuits,  am;  recreations  (what  .  hey  call  congenial 
Bouls) ;  a  toper  for  a  toper,  a  siiioker  for  a  smoker,  a  hor.'ne-racer  fur 
a  horse-racer,  a  prize-iighter  for  a  prize-fighter,  and  so  on.  Matri' 
tnony  likes  contrasts  ;  J'rienchhip  seeks  its  own  >  ounterparts. 

"  Well,  the  lady  had  three  sons,  and  £iS  soon  as  they  were  born; 
they  had  the  bear's  shirt  j)ut  on  ;  and  one  thing  ;s  sartin,  they  were 
all  three  men  of  undoubted  courage.  One  was  killed  in  battle  in 
Canada,  a  captin  in  the  British  army.  The  other  two  were  civilians, 
men  that  nobody  would  think  of  takin'  a  liberty  with.  The  hair 
shirt  is  in  existence  still.  I  seed  it  mvself,  and  have  a  small  bit  of 
the  yarn  to  home  now." 

"  Well  done,  Slick,"  said  Collin^''wo(i'i,  "that's  not  a  bad  yarn.' 
"  It's  a  fact,  though,  I  assure  you       L  know  the  family  as  well  as 
I  do  yourn." 

Here  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  an  inquiry  made  for  the 
Captin.     The   voice  was  that  of  Mr.   Eldad  Nickerson,  who  had 
come  up  for  orders. 
"  Come  in,"  said  Collingwocd.     ''  Come  in,  Mr.  Nickerson.     Tho 


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THREE    TRUTHS    FOR    ONE    LIB. 


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ladies  have  retired,  and  wc  are  goin'  to  spin  yarns.     Come  in,  and 
help  us.     You  have  just  missed  a  capital  one/' 

After  a  little  mock  Hiodesty  on  tlio  part  of  the  Pilot,  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  persuaded,  and  joined  the  circle. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  pilot,  how  have  you  got  on  to-day  ?" 

"  Grand,  Sir,^'  he  said ;  "  better  than  I  expected.  Arter  you  left 
us  a  light  breeze  sprung  up,  and  took  us  in  a  very  few  minutes  tc 
the  anchoriu'-ground,  and  everythin'  was  made  snug  and  safe." 

"  Payin'  out  the  cable,"  said  Cutler,  who  took  up  the  conversation 
here,  "  operated  as  a  signal  to  the  Indians,  who_  soon  came  on  board 
to  sell  their  beautiful  burk-work,  consistin'  of  slippers,  ornamented 
with  porcupine's  quills,  died  of  various  colours,  and  beads  fancifully 
arranged,  nests  of  circular  boxes  and  chair-bottoms  finished  in  e 
same  manner,  and  baskets  of  every  shape  and  siie  made  of  birciim 
strips,  not  unlike  the  English  willow  manufacture.  All  these  found 
a  ready  sale  for  presents  to  friends  on  our  return,  and  the  men  were 
desired  to  come  back  immediately  to  traffic  for  oil  and  fish.  The  In- 
dians of  New  England  have  long  since  disappeared  from  that  part 
of  the  continent  in  which  I  was  born,  and  the  first  I  ever  saw  were 
those  of  Nova  Scotia.  What  a  noble  race  they  still  are,  though 
European  vices  and  diseases,  and  above  all,  ardent  spirits,  have  done 
BO  much  to  demoralize  them.    What  an  interesting  people  they  are  !" 

"Well,  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Eldad.  "They  are  a  dirty,  idle, 
lazy,  vagabond  crew.  Swalier  like  a  crane,  and  sleep  like  a  hog. 
Whon  they  have  nothin'  to  eat,  they  hunt,  or  fish,  and  if  they  fail 
at  that,  beg.  It's  a  common  phrase  with  us  white  folks,  that  a  feller 
is  as  mean  as  an  Indgin,  or  begs  like  an  Indgiu }  and  when  they 
can't  eat  no  more,  and  can't  sleep  no  more,  they  squat  down  and 
play  checkers.  If  that's  intercstin',  then  I  want  to  know?  How 
the  plague  can  people  be  interestin'  that  take  no  interest  in  anythin' 
onder  the  sun  ?  that's  my  logic.  Why  if  they  were  to  see  a  rail-car 
or  a  balloon  for  the  first  time,  they  wouldn't  as  much  as  stop  to  lock 
at  it,  but  just  pass  on,  as  if  it  was  an  old  story.  They  hante  got  no 
curiosity,  and  they  hante  got  no  ambition ;  and  what's  the  use  of  a 
critter  that  hante  got  them  two  senses.  When  I  was  to  Pictou  for 
a  load  of  coal  last  year,  I  met  an  Indgin  at  the  pit  waitin'  for  the 
foreman,  to  beg,  I  suppose.  This  officer  was  an  Englishman ;  but 
old  moose-meat  didn't  )mow  that  them  folks  in  a  general  way  are 
most  as  silent  as  a  savage  —  would  sooner  give  money  anytime  than 
Btop  and  jaw. 

"'Indgin,'  sais  I,  'how  do  they  raise  the  coals  out  of  that  ere 
everlastin',  almighty  dark  hole?' 

"  *  Why,'  sais  he  (for  they  always  have  an  answer,  right  or  wrong), 
*  why,'  sais  he,  '  lightem  up  fire,  make  tea-kittle  boil,  and  up  comee 
coal.' 

"  *  Great  invention  that,  Indgin,  aint  it  r"  sais  I. 


TEREE    TRUTHS    FOR    ONE    LIE. 


198 


it  of  that  ere 


" '  No,'  sals  be,  '  white  man  fool.  If  wood  is  scarce,  instead  of 
makin'  forest  come  as  you  do,  Indgin  goes  to  it.  Indgin  no  fool ; 
he  builds  his  wi.'waui  where  wood,  water,  fi«h,  and  huntin'  nil  meet. 
He  bus  notbin'  tu  do  but  stretchem  out  hand,  help  himself,  and  go 
to  sleep.  White  men  work  all  the  time;  work  for  drink,  work  for 
eat,  work  for  coat,  work  for  horse,  work  for  ox,  work  for  everytbin\ 
Indgin  never  works.' 

"  What  do  you  think  of  such  a  feller  as  that,  eh  ?  Mighty  inter- 
estin',  aint  it?"  ^ 

"It's  his  logic,  and  that's  all,"  said  the  skipper.  "Fact  is  they 
didn't  understand  each  other.  One  was  a  scholar,  and  the  other  a 
practical  man.  One  looked  at  the  past  and  future,  and  was  filled 
with  wonder  and  awe  at  the  mysterious  decrees  of  Providence;  the 
other  at  the  use  and  fitness  of  things  before  his  eyes.  I  understood 
them  both.  Is  there  nothin'  interesting,"  said  Cutler,  "in  the  fact 
of  a  noble  race  that  peopled  a  whole  continent  being  destined  to  dis- 
appear from  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  leave  no  trace  behind  them  ? 
Whence  came  they ?  Who  are  they?  And  for  what  wise  purpose 
is  it,  that  they  are  to  cease  to  exist  ?  In  workin'  out  their  extinc- 
tion— for  wo  are  used  as  the  instruments — are  we  not  working  out 
our  own  condemnation,  and  leaving  an  inheritance  of  sin  and  shame 
to  our  posterity  ?  .  As  Christians  and  as  men  this  is  a  solemn  ques- 
tion, and  one  which  we  shall,  doubtless,  be  one  day  called  upon  to 
answer.  Is  there  nothing  interesting  in  their  trac.itions,  their  legends, 
and  above  all,  their  language  ?" 

"  As  for  their  language,"  said  the  pilot,  "  1  would  as  soon  learn 
the  language  of  the  wolf,  or  the  bear.  What  in  natur'  is  the  use  of 
it,  except  to  trade  ?  and  signs  will  do  for  that." 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  said  Cutler,  "  aint  those  beautiful  pictures  that 
Cooper  has  drawn  of  the  Indian  chiefs  in  his  novels  ?  Don't  they 
give  you  the  idea  of  a  splendid  race  of  men  ?  of  nature's  nobility  ? 
In  form,  models  of  manly  beauty;  in  qualities  of  mind  equal  to  the 
Buges  and  heroes  of  antiquity." 

"Tell  you  what,"  sais  I,  "friend  Cooper's  trade  was  fiction,  and 
fiction  aint  truth,  whatever  else  it  is.  I  can't  write  books  as  woll  as 
be  did,  but  Fin  a  bit  of  en  artist  in  my  own  line,  and  can  draw  and 
paint  a  little,  too." 

"  That  you  can,"  said  Collingwood,  "  and  draw  as  long  a  bow  as 
any  Indian  or  author."  * 

"  Thank  you  for  nothin',"  sais  I,  "  I  owe  you  one  for  that." 

"  Well,"  sais  he,  "  you  are  able  to  pay  it,  if  any  man  can,  that's 
a  fact." 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "  there  are  two  kinds  of  pictures,  fancy  sketches 

and  sketches  from  natur.'     His  are  all  fancy  work.     I  have  been  a 

great  deal  among  the  Indgius,  and  know  them  well.     There  never 

were  such  chiefs  as  he  has  drawn,  and  they  never  acted  or  talked 

17  ^ 


If   |"ftfw 


/94 


THREE    TRUTHS    FOR    ONE    LIE 


<:■     '   I 


that  way.  It's  the  fashion  with  us  to  make  grand  speeches  for  them, 
and  make  them  talk  like  Ossian's  heroes — ^half  mist,  foam,  and  cat- 
aract, and  half  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  with  a  touch  of  insauity,  run- 
nin'  through  all.  It  sounds  beautiful,  school-galls  get 'em  by  heart, 
and  call  'em  sublime ;  and  commencement-day  boys  spout  them  out 
with  awful  effect ;  while  thoir  mothers  open  their  mouths  and  swal- 
ler  all,  and  their  fathers  scratch  their  heads,  to  feel  if  their  scalps 
are  safe,  it  sounds  so  nateral.  A  feller  that  can  feed  off  a  dead  horse, 
that  would  pyson  a  crow,  and  smack  his  lips  after  it,  and  then  go 
and  lie  down  on  his  belly,  and  drink  green  swamp  water  by  the 
quart,  may  be  a  hero;  but  he  can't,  accordin'  to  the  natur'  of  things, 
be  any  great  shakes  of  an  orator.  If  he  can,  we  had  better  shut  up 
shop  to  Cambridge,  and  say  larnin'  is  all  buncum.  They  are  a  fine 
race  of  men,  no  doubt,  and  Providence  had  to  make  'em  so,  other- 
wise wild  beasts  would  have  made  mince-meat  of  them  long  before 
the  Europeans  did ;  but  still,  they  are  savages  after  all,  and  savage 
vices  ever  predominate  over  savage  virtues.  The  questions  you  have 
broached,  are  deeply  interestiu',  I  do  suppose;  but  Paul  Tomahawk, 
and  Peter  Scalpin-kuife  are  ugly  customers,  and  not  so  easily  civil- 
ized as  you  think.  Old  maids  fancy  nobody  knows  how  to  bring  up 
children  but  them ;  but  children  know  they  are  dry-nurses,  and 
laugh  at  'em.  And  Boston  and  Philadelphia  philosophers  think 
that  they  know  how  to  christianize,  humanize,  and  civilize  savages; 
but  savages  look  on  'em  as  harmless,  tame  cattle,  that  live  on  rich 
pastures,  and  like  to  lie  down,  chaw  the  cud,  and  look  wise. 

"  Take  a  wild  duck's  eggs  (I  have  often  done  it),  hatch  'era  out 
under  a  tame  one,  and  as  soon  as  their  wings  are  strong  enough,  oif 
they  go,  it's  their  natur'.  Or  rob  a  hawk's  nest,  and  hatch  one  of 
its  eggs  under  a  pea-hen,  with  her  own,  as  soon  as  the  young  gentle- 
man begins  to  feel  his  helm,  he  sups  on  his  foster-brothers  and  sis- 
ters, and  soars  away  with  his  nurse  in  his  claws  for  dinner.  That's 
the  gratitude  of  savage  life.  You  can't  do  it ;  no  how  you  can  fix  it. 
They  have  an  old  proverb  here,  and  I  like  proverbs,  there  is  so 
much  truth  in  'em,  in  a  small  compass.  An  Indian,  a  partridge, 
and  a  spruce  tree  can't  be  tamed." 

"Do  you  think  they  can't  be  civilized  ?"  he  said. 

"No,"  sais  I,  "I  don't  think  no  such  thing.  But  we  go  the 
wrong  way  to  work.  The  voluntary  principle  won't  do,  you  must 
constrain  'em.  Children  arc  constrained,  and  so  are  school-boys, 
and  so  are  students  at  universities,  to  say  nothin'  of  apprentices  and 
servants.  Well,  sodgers  are  disciplined  by  constraint,  and  so  are 
sailors,  the  most  difficultest  people  in  the  world  to  deal  with.  Well, 
society  is  constrained  by  laws,  police-officers,  jails,  penitentiaries,  and 
gallowses.  What  in  natur'  is  the  use  of  talkiu'  tu  savages.  They 
have  nothin'  in  common  with  you.  They  don't  think  like  you,  value 
what  you  do,  or  have  the  same  springs  of  action.     It's  all  moon* 


THREE    TRUTHS     FOR     ONE     LIE 


195 


shine,  it's  beginnin'  at  the  wrong  oend.  See  what  foolg  the  British 
made  of  themselves  in  the  Caffre  wars,  from  not  knowin*  this ! 
Treatin'  them  naked  savages  like  gentlemen,  and  takin'  their  word 
for  peace.  What  the  pla^iue  do  Enirlish  generals  know  about  bqsh- 
fightin'  ?  or  the  natur'  of  thera  heathen,  ontamed,  rampaginous  imps 
of  darkness  ?  And  what  security  will  they  ever  have  of  them  crit- 
ters keepin'  the  peace  longer  than  when  their. stock  of  cattle  is 
renewed,  and  a  fresh  supply  of  arms  and  ammunition  laid  in  ?  But 
that's  their  look  out,  and  not  mine ;  and  this  I  will  say,  some  of  our 
Peace  Society  folks  haven't  much  reason  to  larf  at  thera  either. 

"  These  wise  men  of  Goshen  sent  a  missionai-y  onct  to  the  Bur- 
mese.    Well,  one  day  he  built  a  bamboo  tent  near  one  of  their  tem- 
ples, and  as  the  heathens  were  goin'  to  idolotrize,  he  stood  at  the 
door  to  preach  to  them,  and  convart  them.     He  took  for  his  tex* 
that  passage  that  refers  to  livin'  water  that  quenches  thirst  for  ever. 
Well,  it  was  a  capital  text,  if  they  could  have  understood  it;  but 
they  didn't;  and  off  they  ran  as  hard  as  they  could  lick,  and  what 
was  his  horror  when  he  saw  them  all  return  with  can?,  cups,  gourds, 
calabashes,  and  what  not  for  the  fluid ;  and  when  they  found  he 
hadn't  it,  they  pulled  down  his  bamboo  camp,  and  took  the  sticks 
and  thrashed  him  amost  to  death.    In  fact,  he  never  did  get  over  it. 
He  died  from  that  are  beaten.     They  called  him  a  Yankee  cheat, 
and  it  lowered  our  great  nation  amazinly — fart,  I  assure  you.     The 
right  way  is — but  you  and  I  aint  a-goin'  to  be  missionaries,  so  we 
wont  enter  into  details ;  at  least,  I  aint.     I  don't  want  to  be  grilled 
and  eat  for  supper,  that's  a  fact.    I'd  like  to  see  them  convarted  into 
Christians;  but  I  don  t  want  to  be  converted  into  a  curried  clock- 
inaker,  I  can  tell  you.     They  are  far  above  niggers  though,  that  I 
will  say;  and  they  despise  those  woolly-headed,  thick-sculled,  long- 
heeled,  monkey-faced  gentleman  as  much  as  you   or  I.     In  that 
particular,  they  have  more  pride  than  we  have.     White  women  do 
sometimes  marry  niggers,  but  an  Indgin  gall  never.    She'd  die  first. 
The  Indgins  here  in  this  country  are  no  fools,  I  tell  you.     Though 
they  do  eat  like  a  boa-constrictor,  swallow  enough  at  one  meal  to  last 
for  two  days,  and  that  muddifies  the  brain,  still  they  know  what's 
good,  and  aint  above  lookin'  a  gift  horse  in  the  mouth.     Lord !  I 
shall  never  forget  an  evenin'  onct  that  I  was  goin'  down  I^a  Haive 
river,  in  a  canoe  with  two  Indgins.     Well,  dark  come  on,  and  it 
began  to  blow  like  statiee,  and  I  saw  a  light  in  a  house  in  the  woods, 
and  I  told  them  to  run  ashore  for  the  night. 

" '  Now,"  sais  I,  *  strike  up  a  light  here,  and  take  a  stretch  for  it 
in  the  bush,  and  hold  on  till  mornin'.  Well,  we  hauled  up  the 
canoe,  and  knocked  up  a  shelter  in  no  time,  and  as  I  was  a-goin* 
towards  the  cottage  of  a  highlander  that  lived  there,  to  get  a  night's 
lodging,  a  little  wrinkled  man  in  an  old  homespun  dress  that  was 
onct  blue,  but  had  grown  grey  in  the  sarvice,  and  wearin'  a  sealskin 


196 


THREE     TRUTHS     FOR     ONE     LIE. 


k.    \ 


cap,  came  towards  me.  I  thought  by  his  Innk  he  was  one  of  the 
lair-l's  helps,  or,  as  they  call  it,  a  joict  of  his  tail,  that  had  small 
wagps  and  ])oor  fare. 

"  Hallo,  frieT)d,'  aais  I,  'do  you  belong  to  this  house?' 

"'Nae,  she  don't  belong  to  the  hoose,*  said  ho,  'but  the  boose 
belongs  to  herself.  It's  Squire  Ilory  iM'Tavish  you  have  the  honour 
to  speak  to.' 

"  Well,  thinks  I  to  myself,  considerin'  you  havn't  so  much  as  a 
pair  of  breeches  to  wear,  that  piece  of  pride  aint  bad,  that's  a  factj 
the  pattern  of  the  kilt  is  big  enough,  in  the  hands  of  a  good  tailor  to 
make  you  a  pair;  but  who  on  airth  gave  you  the  name  of  Rory? 
What  a  devil  of  a  fellow  you'd  bo  af  roarin',  wouldn't  you  frighten 
the  grasshoppers  u'most?  I  thought  I  should  have  roared  out 
myself.  Well,  you  are  a  riproario'.is  fellow,  Rory,  and  no  mistake ; 
but  I  wanted  a  bed  and  a  supper,  sol  soft^-sawdered  hin],  and  smoothed 
the  laird  down,  and  by  the  time  we  reached  the  house,  we  were  as 
thick  as  two  thieves.  The  little  feller  was  a  good-hearted  critter  too, 
as  all  Highlanders  are,  and  out  came  a  hearty  welcome,  and  then 
out  came  the  whiskey,  and  then  out  came  his  wife — a  better  feller 
than  he  was,  ^nd  far  better-lookin'  too — a  rael  jolly  nice  little 
woman, 

"  '  How  did  you  come  ?'  said  she. 

"Well,  I  told  her.about  the  canoe,  and  the  Indgins,  and  all  that, 

"What!'  she  said,  'the  poor  Indians  sleepia'  in  the  heather! 
Murdoch,'  sais  she,  addressin'  a  little  bare-footed  chieftain,  that  had 
a  head  of  red  hair  that  would  have  stuffed  a  gall's  side-saddle  a'most, 
'  go  and  bring  them  up  here,  they  must  have  a  supper,  and  sleep  b^ 
the  fire.' 

Well,  everythin'  went  on  swimmingly.  They  gave  me  a  capital 
supper,  and  we  told  capital  stories.  I  know  hisn  must  have  been 
capital,  though  I  didn't  understand  a  word  of  them,  for  he  larfed  sa 
in  tellin'  them,  they  nearly  choked  him;  and  I  roared  in  tellin' 
mine,  foi.'  I  knew  he  could  not  make  out  what  I  was  talkin'  about 
either.  I  haw-hawed  so  loud,  that  I  actilly  waked  up  the  cock  that 
was  roostin'  in  the  porch,  and  sot  him  off  a  crowin'  too.  We  kicked 
up  a  great  bobbery,  that's  a  fact.  In  the  midst  of  it,  in  comes  Mrs. 
McTavish,  lookin'  as  red  as  a  turkey-cock,  and  struttin'  like  a  ban- 
tam-hen, head  up  stiff  and  strait,  wings  extended  angry-like,  till  thej 
scraped  the  floor.  She  was  in  a  riproarious  passion,  if  she  didn't 
talk  quick,  it's  a  pity.  First  she  talked  Gaelic,  and  then  she  trans- 
lated it.  She  made  a  long  yarn  of  it ;  but  the  short  of  it  was  this, 
she  gave  the  Indians  a  pot  of  burgoo — oatmeal  and  water — for  their 
supper,  and  they  refused  to  eat  it,  savin' :  '  M.iy  be  very  good  for 
Scotchmen  and  pigs,  but  Indian  no  eat  it,'  and  walked  out  of  the 
bouse  in  high  dudgeon. 

"  Oh  !  didn't  little  Rory  roar,  and  Mrs.  Rory  rave,  and  didn't  1 


THREE    TKoTIIS     FOR    ONE    LIE. 


m 


5  one  of  tha 
A  had  small 


lut  the  hoose 
;e  the  honour 

so  much  as  a 
that's  a  fact ; 
good  tailor  to 
me  of  Rory? 
you  frighten 
(re  roared  out 
d  no  mistake ; 
,  and  smoothed 
so,  we  were  as 
•ted  critter  too, 
omc,  and  then 
-a  better  feller 
oily  nice  little 


IS,  and  all  that. 
1  the  heather! 
eftain,  that  had 
e-saddle  a' most, 
sr,  and  sleep  by 

ve  mo  a  capital 
nust  have  been 
for  he  larfed  so 
oared  in  tellin' 
las  talkin'  about 
p  the  cock  that 
,0.    We  kicked 
in  comes  Mrs- 
tin'  like  a  ban- 
ry-like,  till  they 
if  she  didn't 
then  she  trans- 
of  it  was  this, 
ater— for  theii 
very  good  for 
iked  out  of  the 

^e,  and  didn't  1 


go  into  convulsions?  I  thought  I  should  have  died  on  tho  spot  for 
want  of  breath.  I  joined  in  berating  tho  Indians  though  of  course, 
or  I  should  have  been  obliged  to  cut  .stick  too;  but  it  was  almost 
too  much  for  my  ribs.  "Well  done,  hairy  scAlp.s,  .^ais  I  to  myself, 
well  done,  hairy  scalps,  your  pride  has  outijono  liairy  legs  this  time  at 
any  rate.  Oh  dear  !  how  Ambassador  laughed,  when  he  heard  that 
story. 

"  It  was  the  first  time  I  ever  heerd  him  laugh,  for,  in  a  general 
way,  he  only  smiles,  and  gives  a  twinkle  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye 
But  that  time  he  laughed  right  out,  and  sais  he  : 

"  *  Sam/'  and  he  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  eyes ; 
'  Sam,  don't  tell  that  story  here  to  London,  There  are  a  great  many- 
chieftains  here  in  the  season,  and  you  wouldn't  know  they  weren't 
lowlanders,  for  they  conform  to  the  fashion,  wear  trousers,  and  dress 
quite  decent.  I  like  them  myself,  they  are  a  fine,  manly,  good- 
hearted  race,  but  they  are  very  national  and  very  touchy,  and  you'll 
get  called  out  as  suie  as  you  are  born.' 

n  ( "Weiy  gais  I,  '  let  them  call ;  but  they  must  call  louder  than 
little  Hory,  if  they  want  a  man  to  listen  to  them.  If  a  feller  thinks 
to  stop  my  talk,  he's  mistaken ;  for  if  I  don't  make  a  hole  in  bis 
cheek  big  enough  to  hold  the  tube  of  his  unchristian  bagpipe  in,  my 
name  isn't  Sam  Slick.  Ambassador,'  sais  I, '  Latin  and  Greek  is  your 
forte.  If  a  feller  held  a  pistol  to  you,  and  told  you  not  to  speak  them 
languages,  or  if  you  did  you  must  go  out  with  him,  would  that  stop 
you?  I  kinder  guess  not.  Well,  I  wouldn't  swap  my  stories  for 
your  Latin  and  Greek,  nor  the  embassy  to  boot;  and  no  Highlander, 
from  Ben  Lomond  to  John  O'Groat's,  shall  stop  me.' 

"I  saw  he  was  bothered.  He  didn't  know  what  to  say.  He 
didn't  approve  of  duellin',  but  still  he  was  a  Yankee,  and  wouldn't 
like  to  have  one  of  the  embassy  called  a  coward. 

"'Sam,'  sais  he,  'it's  a  serious  matter  herj;  if  it  eends  fatally 
it's  murder.  What  would  you  do  under  the  circumstances  ?'  said  he, 
lookin'  very  grave. 

"  '  Act  like  a  man.  Sir,'  sais  I.  "  Accept  his  invite  at  once,  and 
be  gallus  polite ;  give  him  his  choice  of  weapons,  rifles  or  pistols,  or 
sitten'  straddle-legs  across  a  keg  of  gunpowder,  but  resarvo  the 
choice  of  ground  to  myself.  Well,  as  soon  as  he  makes  his  selection, 
which  would  be  pistols  of  course,  he'd  say,  now  name  your  ground. 
Well,  I'd  say,  I  take  it  for  granted  I  shall  let  daylight  through  you, 
for  I'm  a  dead  shot;  but  perhaps  you  think  you  are  a  deader  one, 
and  make  sartin  you'll  fix  my  flint.  Now,  in  order  to  spare  the 
survivor's  life,  and  have  no  arrests  or  trials  about  it,  and  save  judges 
from  talkin'  hippocritical,  say  the  right  bank  of  the  Mississippi. 
N;;nie  your  day.  But  I  hope  you  won't  be  offended  with  me,  as  1 
know  the  country  better  than  you  do,  for  advisin'  you  to  wear  trou- 
sers there  instead  of  kilts,  or  as  sure  as  you're  born,  you  will  nc  t 
17* 


198 


THAEE    TRUTHS    FOR    ONE    LIE. 


% 


lb 


m'\ 


reach  the  ground  alive,  for  the  galley-nippers.  I  wish  you  a  good 
mornin*.' 

"  'Sara,'  sais  he,  'what  a  way  you  have  of  makin'  fools  of  people. 

"  '  It's  a  knack,  Sir,'  sais  I,  'we  Connecticut  people  have,  and  it's 
useful  in  important  things  as  well  as  in  trifles,  as  the  nigger  says  in 
the  song : 

"  Oh,  habbent  I  de  knack, 
Ob  suckin'  sugar-candy  and  driukin'  apple-jack." 

"  There  is  some  tun  in  Indians,  too,  Captin,"  sais  I,  to  go  on  with 
my  story  about  'em.  "I  was  once  to  Liverpool  Falls,  when  I  was 
in  this  country  last,  and  there  was  a  feller  called  Tony,  took  a  very 
good  rise  out  of  a  settler  near  there,  called  Bednigo  Latty.  Bednigo 
met  him  one  day  in  the  road,  in  winter,  and  as  soon  as  Tony  saw 
him,  he  began  to  limp  and  make  faces. 

"  '  What's  the  matter,  Tony '/'  sais  the  other ;  '  have  you  hurt 
yourself?' 

"'Oh!"  said  Tony,  stoppin'  short,  puttin'  down  his  gun,  and 
restin'  over  the  muzzle,  'me  most  dead,  me  tired  out;  me  no  drag 
my  legs  along  scarcely.  Mister  Latty;  me  chase  moose,  very  big 
moose,. two  whole  days;  and  when  I  kill  him  at  last,  me  so  tired,  me 
not  able  to  skin  him,  or  bring  any  meat  home  to  my  squaw.  I  give 
him  to  you ;  if  you  go  for  him  you  shall  have  him.  Only  give  poor 
squaw  one  small  piece  for  her  dinner.' 

"  'Yes,'  said  Bednigo,  'and  thank  you,  too;  but  how  shall  I  find 
moose  ?' 

"  '  Oh !  I  tell  you  so  you  find  him,  sartin  «ure.  You  know 
Grand  Lake  ?' 

"  '  Yes.' 

"  '  You  know  where  neck  of  land  runs  way  out  ever  so  far,  into 
lake?' 

"'Yes.' 

"  *  You  know  where  large  birch  tree  grows  out  of  the  end  of  that 
neck  ?' 

"  '  Yes.' 

"  '  Well,  moose  just  under  that  birch  tree  there;  very  big  moose. 
You  (jfet  him,  you  have  him.' 

"  Well,  next  mornin'  Bednigo  makes  up  a  huntin'-party,  and  off 
they  starts  through  the  woods,  eight  miles  as  the  crow  flies,  in  a 
straight  line  for  Grand  Lake ;  and  at  the  upper  end  of  it,  four  miles 
further,  they  found  the  neck  of  land,  and  the  big  birch  tree,  but  no 
moose,  and  no  signs  of  one,  or  tracks  cither. 

"  Well,  they  returned  home  as  savage  as  bears,  for  they  knowed 
they  would  be  larfcd  at  by  the  whole  settlement,  for  bein'  took  in  so 
by  an  Indian.  But  they  sarched  all  round  the  lake  first,  in  hopes 
of  haviu'  somethin'  to  bring  home,  and  detarmined  if  they  did,  not 


1  you  a  good 

ols  of  people, 
have,  and  it's 
ligger  says  in 


THREE    TRUTHS    FOR    ONE    LIE. 


199 


II 


;,  to  go  on  with 
Is,  when  I  was 
oy,  took  a  very 
,atty.  Bednigo 
n  as  Tony  saw 

have  you  hurt 

n  his  gun,  and 

at ;  me  no  drag 

moose,  very  hig 

me  so  tired,  me 

squaw.     I  give 

Only  give  poor 

how  shall  I  find 


re. 


You  know 


ever  so  far,  into 
the  end  of  that 

very  big  moose. 

I'.party,  and  off 
crow  flies,  i^  ^ 
of  it,  four  miles 

lirch  tree,  but  no 

for  they  knowed 
I  bein'  took  in  so 
Ike  first,  in  hopes 
if  they  did,  not 


to  tell  the  story ;  but  they  had  no  luck  that  day,  and  they  camped 
out,  and  hunted  the  best  part  of  next  day,  but  saw  nothin',  and 
returned  as  tired,  in  fact,  jis  Tony  pretended  to  be,  and  awful  hungry, 
for  they  intended  to  feed  on  the  fresh  steaks. 

"The  next  time  Bednigo  saw  the  Indian,  'Hullo!'  sais  he,  'what 
did  you  mean  by  tellin'  me  that  lie  about  the  moose,  and  sendin'  mo 
away  out  there,  to  make  a  fool  of  me, 'you  Indgian  rascal?  I  have 
a  great  mind  to  thrash  you,  you  villain  !* 

"  '  What  lie  V  said  Tony,  very  gravely. 

"  *  Why  that  lie  about  the  moose.' 

"  '  Ah  1'  said  he,  '  you  no  gettum  moose  ?' 

"No!  of  course  I  did'nt;  there  was  none  there,  and  you  knowd 
it  well  enough.' 

"'Very  strange,'  said  Tony,  'you  no  gettum  moose/  quite  un- 
moved by  the  threat.     •  Did  you  find  grand  lake  ?' 

" '  Yes.' 

"  '  Well,  that's  one.  Did  you  find  neck  of  land  runnin'  away  out 
into  water  ?' 

"'Yes.' 

" '  Well,  that's  two.     Did  you  find  big  birch  tree  V 

" '  Yes.' 

"'Well,  that's  three,  and  you  no  findem  moose?' 

"'No.' 

" '  Well,  that's  three  truths  for  one  lie.  Pretty  well  for  Indian — 
ttint  it?  When  I  sold  you  my  furs  last  spring,  you  cheated  me,  and 
what  you  said  was  all  one  grand  big  lie.  You  no  pay  me  yet  — 
cheatera  Indian  —  cheatem  devil,'  and  he  drew  back  a  step  or  two, 
and  began  lookin'  to  the  primin'  of  his  gun,  which  Bednigo  thought, 
as  they  was  alone  in  the  woods,  was  a  hint  Congress  was  broke  up, 
and  members  had  better  cut  ofi"  for  home,  so  he  hung  his  head,  and 
made  tracks.  I  guess  humour  is  in  'em,  for  they  understand  a  joke, 
and  enjoy  it.  Many  a  time  I've  made  'em  laugh,  by  givin'  them  a 
droll  idea  dressed  in  Indian  phrases  and  familiar  words.  The  fact 
is,  natur'  is  natur'  all  the  world  over,  and  the  plainer  talk  is,  and  the 
simpler  written  it  is,  the  nearer  to  life  is  it,  and  the  longer  it  is  re- 
membered —  or  lives. 

"  I  have  often  heard  old  Minister  say,  the  '  Vicar  of  Wakefield  * 
is  more  nor  a  hundred  years  old,  and  is  a  common  book  now,  because 
it's  written  in  common  language;  and  will  be  a  popular  work  a  hun- 
dred years  hence,  on  that  account,  altho'  it's  no  great  shakes  arter 
all.  It  don't  require  a  scholar  to  enjoy  it.  Why  is  it  if  you  read 
a  book  to  a  man  you  set  him  to  sleep  ?  Just  because  it  Is  a  book, 
and  the  language  aint  common.  Wl  y  is  it  if  you  talk  to  him  he 
will  sit  up  all  niglit  with  you,  and  s.ny,  '  Oh  !  don't  go  to  bed  yet, 
Biay  a  little  longer  V — Just  because  it's  lalk,  the  language  of  natur*. 
"It's  only  lawyers  that  read  law  books,  and  doctors  that  read 


200 


TUREE     TRUTHS     FOR     ONE     LIE. 


doctor's  books,  and  college  foVks  that  read  L'itin  and  Greek.  Why? 
Because  nobody  else  onderstauds  'eni.  They  are  out  uf  their  way. 
Well,  some  books  are  read  in  the  parlour,  and  some  in  tho  kitchen ; 
but  the  test  of  a  rael  genuine  good  book  in,  t!iat  it  i.s  read  in  both. 
Why  ?  Because  it  shows  it'.s  nateral ;  for  nutur'  is  the  saino  in 
both.  It  only  differs  in  the  dress;  it's  more  transparent  in  the  kit- 
chen, it's  only  covered  witlv  gauze  thcro,  just  for  de-jcncy's  sake. 
It's  dressed  in  silk  in  the  other,  and  aint  just  quite  as  easy  seen 
through. 

•■'  Anythin'  to  please  must  be  nateral,  Tdnn't  care  what  it  is.  Now 
talk  nateral  to  an  Indgian,  in  l.iii'^Miage  s'ach  a.s  he  uses  in  conMnoii, 
and  use  ideas  that  he  uses,  and  put  hu^nour  into  thoni,  and  see  if 
he  don't  larf.  A  little  thing  makes  a  iran  larf,  and  next  to  uothin' 
makes  a  crowd  roar.  We  am  full  of  ckm'fi,  from  the  da'pcst-toned 
silver  stringy  like  tlutt  of  the  harp,  vp  tc  the  little  short  iipprr  sharp 
one  that  is  only  tv:o  inehes  lon</.  Strih-  our  of  \jonr  ovni  that  is  in 
tune  with  that  of  another  person,  and  s- 1  if  theij  ihnit  harmonize. 
It  vibrates  through  himr  Anybody  can  V?  made  to  larf,  unless  it  is 
one  of  those  sour  chaps  in  North  Britain  :  and  T  believe  in  my  soul 
nothiu'  but  takin'  him  to  [;co  a  bishop  h.-'v^od  or  burned  would  make 
him  larf. 

"My  idea  is,  that  the  want  of  humr.'uT  in  Indgians  comes  from 
not  talkin'  to  their  women.  Women  am  naterally  sharp,  quick- 
witted, and  lively  :  if  they  can't  reason  lik>  men,  a  nateral  gumption 
takes  'em  to  a  right  conclusion  long  afore  "k  man  has  got  half  way 
through  his  argument.  Now  men  without  women's  sociaty  are  like 
bodies  without  souls,  heavy  lumps  of  mortaJity;  it's  that  donjcstic 
degradation  of  the  wife  among  savages  that  beastifies  the  mind  of 
the  man. 

"He  is  thoughtful,  but  not  plajful;  knowin'  but  silent;  'cute, 
but  not  humorous.  It's  a  great  pity  the  misfnrtunate  critters  avf^-  so 
fond  of  rum,  it's  the  ruin  of  them  j  they  will  sell  anytbiu'.  a'must 
to  buy  it. 

"  Joe  Nogood  made  a  capital  anslver  to  an  innkeeper  onct,  when 
he  was  purchasiu'  a  bottle  of  spirits  from  him.  Be  was  very  angry 
at  the  price,  which  was  just  double  what  it  ought  to  be.  He  ob- 
jected a  long  time,  but  could  get  no  abatement.  Tho  innkeeper 
tried  to  make  him  onderstand  the  loss  of  keepin'  a  cask  of  rum  on 
hand  for  any  length  of  lime,  and  explained  tp  him  about  the  interest 
of  money  that  he  was  losin'  on  the  principal  spent  in  the  purchase. 
(A  pretty  hard  thing  I  guess  to  make  an  Indgian_  comprehend  what 
interest  of  money  is  —  who  never  received  or  paid  any,  and  never 
had  any  capital  all  his  life.)  Joe'pretended  that  all  he  know  was  it 
used  to  cost  three  shillings  a  bottle ;  and  now  he  was  asked  six ;  and 
he  gave  him  to  understand  he  didn't  think  much  of  his  principle  to 
extort  arter  that  fashion,  and  didn't  thin}:  it  was  for  his  interest 


TIIREK    TRUTHS    FOR    ONE    LIE. 


201 


eol<.     Why? 
i)f  their  wny. 

tho  kitchen ; 
read  in  hnth. 

the  same  in 
]nt  in  the  kit- 
pocncy'b  sake. 
!  as  easy  seen 

lat  it  is.    Now 
■s  in  connnoii, 
ni,  and  see  if 
[icxt  to  uothin' 
c  (Jcepcst-toned 
rl  itpj>'r  sharp 
•otL'u  that  is  in 
n't  harmonize. 
aif,  unless  it  is 
ieve  in  my  soul 
led  would  make 

uns  comes  from 
y  sharp,  quick- 
atcral  gumption 
is  got  half  way 
society  are  like 
3  that  domestic 
ies  the  mind  of 

ut  silent;  'cute, 

,te  critters  are  so 

anytliiu'  a'must 


either,  for  he  would  never  buy  a>iy  more  of  him  again.  But  the 
barman  arpund  away,  and  at  last  wound  up  hy  assertiik'  that  betwcea 
wastago,  li'iikago,  bad  debts,  and  interest,  it  cost  as  much  to  keep  a 
hogshead  of  rum  on  hand  as  to  keep  a  cow.  Joe  mused  a  while 
and  knowin'  how  tho  feller  was  in  tlie  habit  of  adulteratin'  the  rum, 
by  the  aid  of  the  pump,  brought  him  up  all  short, 

"  'Ah,'  said  ho,  '  maybe  cask  drinkum  as  much  water  as  cow,  but 
sartain  no  eatum  as  much  hay.' 

"And  bavin'  given  him  that  poke  ho  paid  the  price,  took  up  his 
bottle,  and  walked.  And  as  he  got  to  the  door  he  turned  and  sliook 
bis  fist  at  the  extortioner,  and  said,  almost  speechless  with  rage,  'Now 
uian,  I  say  damn.' 

**Au  Indian  is  a  child  of  iiatur',  eyes  like  a  lynx,  heart  like  a 
lion,  nose  like  a  pointer,  cunnin'  like  a  fox,  constructive  like  a  beaver, 
destructive  like  a  tiger,  appetite  like  a  boast  of  prey,  and  the  propen- 
Bities  of  the  devil,  and  yet  he  has  an  instinct  runnin'  into  strong 
roasonin'  faculti*.     What  then  is  tho  difference  between  him  and 
us?     Christianity.    Ah  I  that  is  a  great  thing,  if  we  only  knew  how 
to  teach  it  to  them,  and  let  them  see  our  example  was  equal  to  our 
precepts.     They  have  b/ts  of  lamp  ilc,  what  a  jiity  it  is  they  can't 
read.     It's  the  fashion  among  easy-chair  Christians  to  England  to 
undervalue  tho  labours  of  bisliops  in  foreign  parts.     It's  a  great  pri- 
vilege to  abuse  a  bisiiop  and  praise  a  savige — aint  it?    It's  Christian 
charity  too,  for  as  this  mitcrcd  gentleman  has  to  bear  all  things,  he 
has  to  put  up  with  your  sarc^.   Well,  he  has  to  have  his  fo"(i  cooked 
in  course,  for  he  is  used  to  it.     The  dear  child  of  natur'  ev.     a  raw. 
"A  bishop's  taKk  is  no  easy  one  at  any  rate,  and  it  is  nade  more 
difficult  by  other  sects  underminin'  him  in  his  labours,  andf  ayin'  he 
has  no  Scriptural  authority.    II ow  in  the  world  is  lawn  sleeves  agoin' 
to  convart  a  critter  whose  appetite  is  stronger  than   a  pig's,  who 
drinks  dog-fish  oil,  thickened  with  blubber,  the  most  awful  pisonous 
stuH'  in  the  world,  and  dines  off  of  whale-steaks,  cut  out  of  a  fish  that 
died  afore  the  flood,  and  has  been  prcsarved  ever  since  in  natur's  ice- 
house at  the  North  Pole.     If  bishop  is  goin'  to  do   the  civil,  and 
take  pot  hi']'  with  him,  and  wants  to  soft-sawder  him,  he  must  go 
lower  down  slill  than  that,  so  that  savage  may  say :  '  This  Christian 
cbap  is  a  very  sociable  feller,  arter  all,  but  I  guess  ho  aint  used  to 
such  delicacies  to  home  as  dead  foxes,  and  shipwracked  seals.'     Still 
the  question  is :  what   is  the  difference  between  us  Christians  and 
savages  ?     The  great  thing  is  to  settle  what  that  term  Christianity 
means.     We  ought  to  onderstand  it,  you  know,  for  we  expound  it  at 
our  tea-parties,  aud  teach  our  parsons. 

"A  savage  looks  at  us  and  our  doin's,  and  says,  Christians  is  no 
great  shakes  arter  all.  Aint  that  shockin'  now  ?  You  must  double 
your  subscriptions,-  old  ladies.  He  says  we  don't  onderstand  our- 
Belves,  and  asks  what  in  the  world  is  the  meaniu'  of  that  word  Chris- 


I 


202 


THREE    TRUTHS    FOR    ONE    LIE. 


tiiinity?  Ono  is  nicknamod  an  idolater,  and  has  a  fisherman's  rinp;, 
when  it's  wi'll  known  fislicrnion  never  wore  rings.  And  t'other  is 
briiiiilcd  a  heretic,  who  wears  long  bands  to  look  wise,  which  were 
never  itivented  until  long  beards  were  cut  off.  And  the  third  is  a 
free  livin'  and  free  thitikin'  gentleman.  lie  -uys:  they  preach  good 
•will  to  all  men  and  iiatc  each  other  like  the  devil.  They  fight 
among  then)selves,  and  use  us  as  tools.  One  lias  a  book  called  a 
IJible,  and  t'other  burns  it.  One  tolerates,  and  t'other  intolerates. 
They  hate  each  other  like  pyson,  and  use  words  which  we  call  im- 
pious. They  fight  even  in  death,  ft>r  they  won't  sleep  side  by  side 
in  the  .same  gravo-jard.  Oh  !  it's  no  use  talkin',  Captin  Colingwood, 
Christianity  should  be  intrusted  to  tlie  cliureh  to  teach  savages,  and 
not  to  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry.  False  teachin'  and  bad  examples 
hrrnxj  rum,  ruin,  disease,  treachery,  and  death  to  the  Indians.  1  don't 
wonder  Johny  Nogood,  who  knew  our  favorite  oath,  said  :  *  Now 
man,  I  say  damn.'  " 

"  Slick,"  said  Cutler,  "  I  never  heard  you  tallf  so  well  afore. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  truth,  in  tliat,  although  you  have  put  it  in 
a  way  to  make  my  flesh'crawl." 

Says  T,  "  Cutler,  I  haven't  put  it  half  strong  enough  ;  but  I  actilly 
thought  Sophy  (Oh  Lord  !  I  thought  I  should  have  died,  for  it  came 
out  afore  old  Colingwood  so  sudden;  but  I  went  right  ahead,  for  if 
you  get  into  a  slough  or  honey  pot,  you  can't  stop,  you  must  whip 
up,  yielk,  talk  slang,  and  bolly  the  team,  and  put  them  through,  for 
if  you  hold  on  one  minute,  rhe  cattle  can't  or  won't  start  the  load 
agin,  and  you  are  in  a  pretty  frizzle  of  a  fi.K,  so  I  went  right  ahead) 
or  dear  little  Mary,  (as  if  Sophy  wasn't  twice  as  dear)  and  Aunt 
'Thankful,  and  all  were  present,  for  in  course  we  talk  more  resarved 
afore  ladies,  than  by  ourselves.  But  still,"  sais  I,  a  lightin'  of  my 
candle,  and  risin'  to  go  to  bed  (for  I  wanted  to  think  of  Sophy  and 
not  of  savages),  "depend  upon  it,  Colingwood — man  to  man,  face  to 
face,  and  without  bunkum,  I  don't  wonder  when  an  Indian  looks  at 
us  and  says,  'Now  man,  I  say  damn.'  "* 

*  Two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  very  similar  remarks  were  made  by 
.1  French  gentleman,  who  Inis  loft  us  an  interesting  account  of  his  visit  to 
Nova  Scotia:  "  Et  ne  faut  point  m'all^guer  ici  le  pr(Stexte  de  la  rdligion. 
Car  (CO. lime  nous  avons  dit  ailleurs)  ils  ont  tout  tuez  les  originaires  du  pais 
avec  des  supplices  lea  plus  inhumains  que  le  diable  a  peu  excogiter.  Et 
par  leurs  cruaut^s  ont  rendu  le  nom  de  Dieu  un  nom  de  scandale  a  ces 
pauvres  peuplcs,  ct  I'ont  blasphemd  continucllement  par  chacun  jour  nu 
milieu  des  Gen  tils,  ainsi  que  le  Prophete  le  reproche  au  peuple  d'Israel. 
TtSmoin  celui  qui  airaa  mioux  estre  dannie  que  d'aller  au  paradis  des  Hes- 
oagnols." — LescarboC    Hist,  de  La  Nouvelle  France,  p.  483. 


AUNT  THANKFUL  AND  II  ER  ROOM 


208 


prman's  nnj», 
Vnd  t'other  is 
0,  which  were 
the  third  is  a 
y  preach  good 
.     They  fight 
book  called  a 
ler  intolerates. 
;h  we  call  im- 
p  side  by  side 
in  Coliiigwood, 
h  pavages,  and 
bad  exanipleg 
ndians.  1  don't 
b,  said  :  'Now 

so  well  afore, 
have  put  it  in 

;h ;  but  I  actilly 
iied,  for  it  came 
bt  ahead,  for  if 
you  must  whip 
Dm  through,  for 
't  start  the  load 
lit  right  ahead) 
car)  and  Aunt 
more  resarved 
lightin'  of  Ui)' 
Ik  of  Sophy  and 
to  man,  face  to 
iTndian  looks  at 


AS  were  inade  by 

lint  of  liis  visit  to 

|te  de  la  r61igion. 

riginaircs  du  pais 

;u  excogiter.     Et 

le  scandale  t  ces 

chacun  jour  nu 

peuple  d' Israel. 

paradis  des  Hes- 


CHAPTER   XX. 
AUNT    THANKFUL    AND    HER    ROOM. 

The  first  thing  T  did  when  I  went  to  my  bod-room  was  to  pack 
ufi  my  thii.gs.  7  iirrrr  draw  on  to-morrow.  If  is  like  ontiripatm' 
one's  income  and  ma  kin*  the  future  hear  the  expenses  of  the  past. 
When  a  thing  is  done,  it  is  off  your  mind.  To  carry  care  to  bed  it 
to  sleep  with  a,  pack  on  your  hack.  That's  my  logic,  as  the  pilot 
sais.  Well,  when  thf.t  was  done,  I  hops  into  bed,  and  n.tv/,  suis  I  to 
myself,  Sam,  s'posin*  as  wo  are  alone  here,  and  it  aint  overly  late, 
we  have  a  liUle  quiet  talk  together. 

What  do  you  tliink  of  to-day's  work  ? 

Well,  I  think  it  is  about  as  pleasant  a  day  as  I  evbr  passed  in  my 
life.  As  for  Sophy,  she  is  splendiferous,  and  no  mistake.  I  guess 
I'm  in  for  it  this  hitch. 

Well,  sais  I  agin,  aint  she  prudish,  or  cold,  or  calculafin'  or  some- 
thin*  or  another  of  that  sort ;  aint  there  a  little  grain  of  Aunt  Thank- 
ful's  starch  in  her.  S'posin'  we  run  over  the  events  as  they  oeeurred, 
and  consider  them  separate,  and  then  put  tiie  pa;'ts  all  together,  and 
Bee  how  they  work. 

Well,  I  goes  over  all  in  my  mind,  till  I  throws  the  line  over  the 
brook,  to  give  little  Jemmy  his  first  lesson,  and  gets  the  first  trout, 
and  the  pull  he  gave  jerked  my  hand  off  my  eyes,  and  I  was  asleep 
in  a  minute  as  fast  as  a  pine-stump. 

A  little  afore  day  I  wakes  up,  and  rubs  my  eyes,  and  I  thought  I 
hecred  some  one  a  movin',  sq  says  I,  steward,  how  is  her  head  ?  But 
steward  didn't  answer,  so  I  answered  for  him :  Pretty  well  I  thank 
you,  Sir.  How  is  yourn  ?  And  that  made  mc  laugh  j  but  still  I 
was  a  little  bewildered.  I  thought  I  was  on  board  the  *  Blaek 
Hawk ;'  but  I  stretched  out  my  leg  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the 
other,  and  found  I  was  in  bed. 

Yes,  sais  I,  a-bed,  that's  sartain ;  but  where?  Oh,  I  have  it!  at 
Squire  Collingwood's.  Why,  Sam,  sais  I,  it  aint  possible  you  are  in 
love,  when  even  the  thought  of  dear  Sophy  couldn't  keep  you  awake 
for  half  an  hour.  But  I  am  tho',  that's  a  fact.  Oh  dear,  what 
liDnsense  people  talk  about  lovCj^  don't  they?  Sleepless  nights — 
Iwiken  dreams — beatiu'  hearts — pale  faces — a  piniu' away  to  shadera 
—fits  of  absence — loss  of  appetite — narvous  fiutterin's,  and  all  that. 
I  haven't  got  the  symptoms,  but  I'll  swear  to  the  disease. 

Folks  take  this  talk,  I  guess,  from  poets  ;  and  they  arc  miserable, 
niooaey  sort  of  critters,  half  mad  and  whole  lazy,  who  would  rather 


204 


AUNT  THANKFUL  AND  II EU  ROOM. 


take  a  daj's  droam  than  a  day's  work  any  time,  and  catch  rhymes  as 
nisjtfTors  catch  flies,  to  pas-^  time — Ivarts  and  darts,  cupid  and  stupid, 
purlin'  streams  and  pulin'  dreams,  and  so  on.  It's  all  bunkum! 
Spooney  looks  and  ppooney  words  may  do  for  schoolboys  and  semi- 
nary galls  J  but  for  a  man  like  nic,  and  an  angcliferons  critter  like 
Sophy,  love  must  be  like  electricity  —  eye  for  eye,  and  heart  for 
heart,  telegrnphcd  backwards  and  forwards  like  'iled  lightnin'. 

Well,  sais  !  to  myself,  confound  the  thing,  Sam,  you  didn't  mnko 
no  great  headway  nuther,  did  you,  tho''  you  did  go  it  pretty  strong? 
Thinks  I  again,  you  haven't  had  no  great  experience  in  these  matters, 
Sam,  and  that's  just  where  you  made  the  mistake.  You  went  at  it 
too  strong.  Courtin'  a  gal!,  I  guess,  is  like  catchin'  a  young  horse 
in  the  pastur'.  You  put  the  oats  in  a  pan,  hide  the  halter,  and  soft- 
eawder  the  critter,  and  it  comes  up  softly  and  shyly  at  first,  and  puts 
its  nose  to  the  grain,  and  get's  a  taste,  stands  off  and  munches  a 
little,  looks  round  to  see  that  the  coast  is  clear,  and  advances  cautious 
again,  ready  for  a  go.if  you  are  rough.  Well,  you  soft-sawder  it  all 
the  time  : — so-so,  pet !  gently,  pet !  that's  a  pretty  doll !  and  it  gets 
to  kind  a  like  it,  and  comes  closer,  and  you  think  you  have  it,  nnike 
a  grab  at  its  njane>  and  it  ups  head  and  tail,  snorts,  wheels  short 
round,  lets  go  both  hind-feet  at  you,  and  off  like  a  shot. 

That  comes  of  being  in  a  hurry.  Now,  if  you  had  put  your  hand 
up  slowly  towards  its  shoulder,  and  felt  along  the  neck  for  the  mane, 
it  might  perhaps  have  drawed  away,  as  much  as  to  say,  hands  off,  if 
you  please;  I  like  your  oats,  but  I  don't  want  you,  the  chance  is  you 
would  have  caught  it.  Well,  what's  your  play  now  you  have  missed 
it?  Why,  3'ou  don't  give  chase,  for  that  only  scares  a  critter;  but 
you  stand  still,  shake  the  oats  in  the  pan,  and  say,  cope,  cope,  cope ! 
and  it  stops,  looks  at  you,  and  comes  up  again,  but  awful  skittish, 
stretches  its  neck  out  ever  so  far,  steals  a  few  grains,  and  then  keeps 
a  respectful  distance.  Now  what  do  you  do  then?  Why,  shake 
the  pan,  and  move  slowly,  as  if  you  were  goia'  to  leave  the  pastur 
and  make  fur  hum ;  when  it  repents  of  beia'  so  distrustful,  comes 
up,  and  you  slips  the  halter  on. 

Now  more  nor  half  of  all  that  work  is  lost  by  bein'  in  too  big  a 
hurry.  That's  just  the  case  with  Sophy.  You  showed  her  the  bai- 
ter too  soon,  and  it  skeered  her.  I  see  it  all  now,  as  plain  as  a  new 
floor-board,  sais  I.  It  stands  to  natur.  Put  one  strange  horse  in  a 
pastur,  and  another  in  the  next  one,  and  arter  a  while  they  will  go 
to  the  fence,  and  like  as  not,  when  they  look  over  at  each  other, 
snap  and  bite  as. cross  as  anything,  as  much  as  to  say,  you  keep  your 
side  and  I'll  keep  mine.  1  never  saw  you  before,  and  I  don't  like 
your  looks.  Arter  an  hour  or  so,  they  will  go  and  look  at  each  other 
agin  ;  and  that  time  they  won't  biJe^  but  they  breathe  together,  and 
rub  their  heads  together,  and  at  last  do  the  friendly  by  brushin'  the 
fiioo  from  each  other's  neck      Arter  that,  there  is  a  treaty  of  peace 


AUNT    THANKFUL    AND    HER    ROOM. 


205 


pigned,  and  they  turn  to  and  knock  the  fence  down,  (for  it  is  very 
lonely  to  foed  in  a  fi(!ld  by  onosnlf),  and  go  wanderin*  about  showin* 
each  o'Jier  the  bo.st  grass.  Yes,  Sophy,  I  see  where  I  missed  a 
Ilgure ;  and  if  I  remain  of  the  same  mind  as  I  am  now,  see  if  I 
don't  slip  the  halter  round  your  nock  before  you  know  where  you 
be.     Or  say  I  can't  catch  a  hoss  or  a  gall,  that's  all. 

But  I  must  bo  a  movin'  now,  so  as  not  to  disturb  folks.  So  I 
lights  the  candle,  and  goes  down  softly  to  the  front  entry,  and  puts 
down  my  traps  to  bo  sent  for;  and  just  as  I  was  a  goin'  to  open  the 
door,  the  black  house-help,  Hose,  comes  from  the  other  end  of  the 
buildin',  and  says,  "  This  way,  pl(;ase,  Master  Slick.  Marra  Thank- 
ful will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes,  and  hopes  you  will  sit  down  in 
this  room  till  she  comes;"  and  closin'  the  door  on  me,  vanished. 
There  was  a  small  wood-tire  burnin'  in  the  chimney,  and  two  lighted 
caudles  stood  on  one  of  the  tables,  so  that  everything  was  as  clear 
as  noonday.  Oh,  Jerusalem!  sais  I,  what  in  creation  is  all  this? 
Ilore  is  a  room,  that  looks  ns  if  it  must  have  been  cut  out  of  the  old 
family  house  in  New  York  State,  au'l  fetched  down,  holus  bolus,  as 
it  stood;  for  there  aint  anything  hardly  in  it  as  new  as  herself,  and 
she  is  scveuty  years  old,  if  she  is  a  day.  Note  it  all  down  for  your 
journal,  for  sister  Sal ;  for  though  you  have  seen  most  of  these 
things  as  odds  and  ends,  you  never  saw  them  all  brought  together 
before,  and  never  will  a;.rain.     So  I  up  and  at  it. 

I  paced  the  floor ;  it  was  twenty-two  by  twenty.  The  carpet  was 
a  s((uaro  of  dark  cloth,  uut  so  large  as  the  whole  floor,  and  instead 
of  a  pattern,  had  difFcroiit  colored  pieces  on  it,  cut  out  in  the  shape 
of  birds  and  boasts,  and  secured  and  edged  with  variegated  worsted 
in  chain-stitch.  In  one  corner  stood  an  old-fashioned  eight-day 
clock,  in  a  black  oak  case,  with  enormous  gilt  binges.  In  the  oppo- 
site one  was  a  closet,  made  angular  to  fit  the  shape  of  the  wall,  with 
a  glass  front,  to  preserve  and  exhibit  largo  silver  tankards;  Dutch 
wine-glasses,  very  high  in  the  stem,  mad*  of  blue  glass,  with  mugs 
to  matuh,  vJchly  gilt,  though  showin'  marks  of  wear,  as  well  as  age; 
a  very  old  China  bowl,  and  so  on. 

In  one  of  the  deep  recesses  formed  by  the  chimbly  stood  an  old 
spinet,  tho  voice  of  which  probably  was  cracked  before  that  of  its 
mistress,  and,  like  her,  had  forgot  its  music.  In  the  other  was  a 
lualiogany  bureau,  wish  numerous  drawers,  growin'  gradually  less 
and  less  in  depth  and  size,  till  it  nearly  reached  the  ceilin',  and  ter- 
niinatin'  in  a  cone,  surmounted  by  a  gilt  parrot;  not  a  bad  emblem 
till-  i\,  cliutty  old  lady  bird,  who  is  apt  to  repeat  over  and  over  the 
8;iiue  thing. 

The  jambs  of  the  lire-place,  which  was  very  capacious,  were  orna- 
mented with  bright  glazed  tiles,  bavin'  landscapes,  representin'  wind- 
liiiiis,  summe.  houses  in  swamps,  canal  boats,  in  which  you  could  see 
Eothiu'  but  tobacco-pipes  for  the  smoke,  and  other  Dutch  opukni 
18 


WBBBBi 


206 


AUNT    THANKFUL    AND     II  ER    ROOM, 


" 


liiH 


luxuries  painted  on  them.  On  one  side  of  these  were  suspended  a 
very  long  toastin'-fork  and  a  pair  of  bellows;  and  on  the  other  u 
worked  kettle-holder,  an  almanac,  and  a  duster  mudo  of  the  wing  of 
a  bird. 

The  mantel-piece,  which  was  high,  was  set  off  with  a  cocoa-nut 
bowl,  carved,  polished,  and  supported  by  three  silver  feet;  an  ostrich 
egg,  and  a  little  antique  China  tea-pot,  about  as  large  as  a  sizable 
cup.  Two  large  high  brass  dog-irons,  surmounted  by  hollow  balls, 
supported  the  fire.  The  chairs  were  of  mahogany,  high  and  rather 
straight  in  the  back,  which  had  open  cross  bar-work.  Two  of  these 
were  arm-chairs,  on  one  of  which  (Aunt  Thankful's  own)  hung  a 
patch-work  bag,  from  which  long  knittin'-needles  and  a  substantial 
yarn-stockin'  protruded.  All  had  cushions  of  crimson  cloth,  worked 
with  various  patterns,  and  edged  with  chain-stitch,  and  intended  to 
match  the  curtains,  which  were  similar.  There  was  no  table  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  and  but  two  in  it,  which  were  much  higher  than 
modern  ones,  with  several  little  spindly  legs  to  each,  makin'  up  in 
number  what  they  wanted  in  size.  On  the  largest  stood  two  old- 
fashioned  cases,  with  the  covers  thrown  back  to  exhibit  the  silver- 
handled  knives,  which  rose  tier  above  tier,  like  powdered  heads  in  a 
theatre,  that  all  might  be  seen.  Beside  them  was  a  silver  filigree 
tea-caddy. 

On  the  smaller  table,  stood  a  little  hand-bell  and  a  large  family 
Bible  with  enormous  clasps,  a  Prayer-book,  and  the  "  Whole  Duty 
of  Man."  It  was  a  funny  idea  that  too.  I  took  it  for  granted  it 
was  a  receipt-book,  or  a  family  medicine-book,  or  a  cookery-book,  or 
a  female  book  of  some  sort  or  another;  but  no — it  was  the  "  Wholn 
Duty  of  Man  !" 

Ah,  Aunt  Thankful!  confess  now,  warn't  there  a  little  curiosity 
in  you  to  find  out  what  the  "  Wiiolc  Duty  of  Man"  was?  AYell, 
they  don't  do  their  duty,  or  one  of  them  would  a  gone  down  on  his 
marrow-bones,  and  begged  the  honor  of  your  hand,  long  and  long 
ago;  and  they  never  will  do  their  duty.  But  you  will  be  here  be- 
fore I  have  half-finished  my  inventory;  and  Sally  will  scold  if  I 
don't  tell  her  about  the  walls,  and  say  I  haven't  done  m?/  diiti/. 

Well,  between  the  winders  was  a  very  large  lo«kin'-glass,  in  an 
old  dark,  carved  mahogany  frame ;  a  yellow  sampler,  with  the  letters 
of  the  alphabet;  a  moral  lesson,  "  lie  member  thy  Creator  in  the 
days  of  thy  youth,"  and  the  name  of  the  artist,  "  Thankful  ColHng- 
wood,  1790,  aged  ten  years,"  worked  on  it;  and  a  similar  one,  con- 
tainin'  a  family  coat-of-arms,  executed  on  the  same  material,  and  by 
the  same  hand,  though  at  a  later  date,  were  substantially  framed, 
and  protected  by  glass.  Two  portraits  of  military  men,  in  oils,  re- 
markably well  painted,  completed  the  collection ;  each  of  which  wag 
decorated  with  long  peacock's  feathers. 

Now,  Sally,  that's  Aunt  Thnnkful's  room ;  and  I  am  thankful  1 


AUNT  THANKFUL  AND  HER  ROOM. 


207 


am  thankful  I 


have  finished  it.  But,  stop  —  what  the  plagie  does  she  want  with 
nie?  Is  she  an  envoy  extraordinary,  as  we  say,  to  the  Court  of  St. 
James's,  from  Sophy  to  declare  non-intercourse  ?  I  guess  not.  Sho 
has  spunk  enough  to  do  that  herself,  if  she  wanted;  or  from  Mary, 
about  Mr,  Hopewell's  church  ?  She  knows  she  has  only  to  ask  me 
for  it  herself  to  get  it,  or  anythiu'  I  have.  From  herself?  Oh,  the 
devil !  said  I :  no,  that  can't  be.  I  am  sure  the  "  Whole  Duty  of 
Man"  is  agin'  marryin'  your  grandmother.  I  know  Mr.  Hopewell 
told  me  it  was  agin  the  law ;  but  whether  he  said  canon  law,  civil 
law,  ecclesiastical  law,  Levitical  law,  law  of  England,  or  the  United 
States'  law,  hang  me,  if  I  don't  disremember;  for  I  never  intended 
to  do  it,  so  I  forget  where  he  said  lo  look  for  it.  I  have  got  it,  said 
I :  she  thinks  it  aint  suitable  for  the  young  ladies  to  go  to  Slickvilk 
without  her.  Well,  prhaps  it  is  agin  the  ''whole  duty  of  woman,' 
and  I'll  ask  the  good  old  soul  too. 

Poor  Aunt  Thankful !  it's  others  ought  to  be  thankful  to  3'ou, 
that's  a  fact,  for  your  post  aint  easy.  We  uncles  and  aunts  have 
enough  to  do.  Uncle  pays  for  all,  and  aunt  works  for  all.  The 
children  don't  mind  you  like  a  mother,  and  the  servants  don't  obey 
j'ou  like  the  rael  head  of  the  house  nother.  Is  there  one  of  the 
party  to  stay  to  home  ?  it's  aunt.  Is  there  any  one  to  get  up  early, 
and  to  be  the  last  to  lock  doors,  and  to  look  to  fires  ?  it's  aunty.  Is 
there  company  to  home,  who  takes  charge  of  the  house  ?  Why 
aunty  to  be  sure.  If  you  haven't  got  money  enough  for  w'hat  you 
want,  there  is  some  doubloons  still  left  in  the  eend  of  Aunt  Thank- 
ful's  stockin'.  You  didn't  return  the  last  three  you  borrowed;  but 
coax  her,  she  is  so  good-natured  au4  so  kind.  Get  her  to  tell  that 
Btory  about  Prince  Edward,  Duke  of  Kent,  and  her  eyes,  and  say, 
well,  aunt,  they  must  have  been  beautiful,  for  they  are  still  so  hand- 
some; how  near  you  came  being  the  Duchess  of  Kent  (that's  the 
soft  spot,  with  three  tender  places  in  it,  first  to  be  married,  second 
to  be  a  duchess,  atid  third  to  be  the  mother  of  a  queen) ;  go  right 
on  without  stoppiu'.  Aunty,  if  you  would  lend  me  just  one  doub- 
loon? you  shall  have  it  again  soon.  Ah!  you  rogue,  you  didn't 
pay  the  last  three  you  got.  I'll  trust  you  this  once  though,  but 
mind,  I  never  will  again.     There  now,  mind  it's  the  last  time. 

Then  aunty  dear,  if  you  have  some  disagreeable  things  to  do  and 
to  bear  —  who  hasn't?  Oh!  you  have  some  such  pleasant  duties, 
that  I  envy  you.  The  family  hospital  is  under  your  sole  command, 
scarlet-fever,  hoopin'-cough,  measles,  chilblains,  sore  throats,  and 
consumption  —  not  all  at  once,  and  then  ever  so  much  of  it  that  you 
get  tired,  but  one  at  a  time,  with  spaces  between  to  keep  up  the  in- 
tevnst  —  and  the  blisters,  no  one  can  handle  like  you,  and  you  do 
make  such  lovely  poultices,  and  sweet  salves,  and  are  such  a  grand 
hand  at  a  scald,  a  burn,  a  cut,  or  a  shot-wound. 


1 1  ^ww 


208 


AUNT    THANKFUL    AND    HER    ROOM. 


I  'i 


'I    m 


"  Well,  there's  no  use  a  talkin'  about  it,"  gais  I,  speakin'  aloud 
"  I  do  love  her  !" 

The  door  (ipcncd;  and  thore  stood  Aunt  Thankful.  She  paused  a 
moment  cdiil'uHcd-like.  That  avowal  of  mine  puzzled  hor.  3Iy  !  if 
she  wasn't  ajiic-tur'  !  She  was  tall,  thin,  and  fair.  Her  forehead, 
which  made  up  in  height  what  it  was  deficient  in  breadth,  was  some- 
what disfigured,  by  havin'  the  hair  cut  across  the  middle.  The  rest, 
rather  grizzled  than  grey,  was  parted,  and  partly  concealed  by  a  mob- 
cap  of  stiffened  muslin,  high  in  the  crown,  with  lappets  extendin'  to 
the  shoulder,  and  secured  by  a  black-silk  fillet,  round  the  head. 
The  only  ornaments  I  could  see  were  a  pair  of  short  ear-rings,  and  a 
necklace  or  string  of  gold  beads  round  the  throat. 

She  had  on  a  white  dimity,  high-bodied,  short  gown,  extendin'  a 
little  below  the  hips,  and  enclosin'  a  beautifully-starched,  clear, 
white  handkerchief,  and  fastened  by  a  girdle  of  white-cotton  cord, 
terminatin'  in  two  tassels  pendant  in  front.  To  this  was  attached, 
on  the  right  side,  a  large  steel  bunch  of  snap-rings;  the  uppermost 
supported  a  thick,  clumsy-lookin'  gold  watch,  of  antique  manufac- 
ture, the  face,  for  security,  restiu'  agin  her  person,  and  the  wrought 
back  exhibitin'  no  design,  but  much  labour  and  skill,  resembling 
somewhat  brain-stone  tracery.  From  another  was  suspended,  by  a 
long  ribbon,  a  pair  of  scissors  in  a  steel-case,  and  a  red  cloth  pin- 
cushion, and  from  the  rest,  keys  of  various  sizes. 

The  sleeves  of  the  gown  were  loose,  reached  a  little  below  the 
elbow,  and  terminated  in  long,  grtfy,  kid  mitts,  coverin'  half  the 
hand,  the  lower  part  bein'  so  fashioned  as  to  turn  backwards  towards 
the  wrist  in  a  point.  The  petticoat  was  made  of  shiny  black  shal- 
loon, rather  short,  and  exhibitin'  to  advantage  a  small  foot  in  a  high- 
heeled  shoe  of  the  same  material,  and  a  neat  ancle  incased  in  a  white 
cotton  stockin',  with  open  clocks. 

Such  was  Aunt  Thankful.  She  looked  round  puzzled-like,  to  see 
if  I  was  a  talkin'  to  any  one  in  the  room,  or  was  addressin'  her,  and 
at  last  courtseyin'  advanced,  and  shook  hands  with  me. 

"I  could  not  think,  Mr.  Slick,"  she  said,  "of  lettin'  you  go 
away  without  a  cup  of  tea,  and  as  I  am  an  early  riser,  I  thought  you 
wouldu't  object  to  takin'  it  with  an  old  woman  like  me,  even  if 
the  young  ladies  were  not  present  ?" 

Takin'  one  of  the  candles,  and  proceedin'  to  the  closet,  she  took  up 
one  of  the  gilt  glasses,  and  unfoldin'  a  napkin,  and  carefully  wipin' 
it,  she  poured  out  a  glass  of  pale  yaller  liquor. 

'.'  Take  this,  Mr.  Slick,"  she  said,  "  it  is  some  bitters  I  made 
myself.  It  is  a  wholesome  thing  on  this  foggy  coast  before  break- 
fast, and  promotes  appetite." 

Well,  in  a  gineral  way  my  twist  is  considerable.  Pharaoh's  lean 
kine  are  a  caution  to  sinners  in  the  eatiu'  line,  and  my  appetite  don't 
wan't  provokin' ;  but  anythin'  a  lady  makes  herself  you  must  take; 


M. 

peakin'  aloud 

She  paused  a 
hor.  My !  if 
Her  forehead, 
dth,  was  some- 
ile.  The  rest, 
laled  by  a  mob- 
;t8  extendin'  to 
lund  the  head, 
ear-rings,  and  a 

wn,  extendin'  a 
•starched,  clear, 
lite-cotton  cord, 
s  was  attached, 
;  the  uppermost 
itique  manufuc- 
ind  the  wrought 
;kill,  resembling 
suspended,  by  a 
a  red  cloth  pin- 

I  little  below  the 
ioverin'  half  the 
ickwards  towards 
ihiny  black  shal- 
11  foot  in  a  high- 
icased  in  a  white 

zzled-like,  to  see 
Idressin'  her,  and 
\e. 

\>i  lettin'  you  go 
n;  I  thought  you 
like  me,  even  if 

lloset,  she  took  up 
carefully  wipin' 

bitters   I  niade 
ist  before  break- 
Pharaoh's  lean 
[iiy  appetite  don't 
'  you  must  take; 


AUNT    THANKFUL    AND     HER    ROOM. 


209 


tact  is,  I  never  could  swaller  physic  unless  a  woman  gave  it  to  me. 
It  aint  civil  to  refuse,  so  I  took  the  glass,  held  it  up  to  the  light, 
and  it  was  as  clear  as  racked  cider. 

"Well,"  said  I,  with  a  very  admirin'  smile,  "you  do  look  beau- 
tiful and  your  complexion  is  as  clear  as  a  bell." 

«  Oh  Mr.  Slick  \"  said  she. 

I  thought  I  should  have  busted;  I  was  a  takin*  of  the  liquor, 
and  she  was  a-thinkin'  of  herself.  I  wonder  what  is  the  age  a  fem- 
inine gives  over  vanity,  or  gives  up  hopes.  I'll  ask  Professor  Sill^- 
man,  who  is  a  great  nateral  philosopher,  to  tell  me  this  fact  about 
siUi/  women  j  and  if  he  can't,  perhaps  Cardinal  irtse-raan  can,  for 
old  galls  have  to  confess  their,  weaknesses  as  well  as  young  ones. 

"  Madam,"  says  I  "  my  sarvice  to  you,"  and  I  made  her  a  low 
bow,  and  tossed  it  off.  Lord,  if  it  warnt  bitter,  then  there  are  no 
snakes  in  Virginny.  It  was  strong  enough  to  pucker  the  mouth  of 
an  aligator;  so  he  couldn't  open  it  without  usin'  cod -liver  oil.  "Oh 
that  is  grand  !"  said  I. 

"I  am  glad  you  like  it,"  said  she,  "and  I'll  give  you  a  receipt." 

How  strange  it  is,  710  created  critter  wants  to  learn,  hut  every  one 
wants  to  instruct.  The  yrand  secret  of  life  is  to  hear  lessons,  and 
not  to  tedch  them.  Who  the  plague  ever  liked  a  schoolmaster  ? 
Vanity,  vanity  !  all  is  vanity,  says  the  preacher !  Well,  that  text 
aint  read  right  in  general.  Ministers  discourse  on  it  as  if  all  worldly 
things  were  of  no  use.  The  rael  meanin'  of  it  is  "  the  vanity  of 
fools  is  the  wisdom  of  the  wise."  Poor  thing!  she  didn't  know 
that,  but  I  did.     Says  she,  I'll  give  you  a  receipt. 

"  Thank  you,  Madam,"  said  I,  "  and  when  I  come  here  on  my 
return,  I  shall  be  most  grateful ;  but  I  am  afeard  I  must  be  a  movin', 
I  am  skeered,  lest  I  should  wake  the  folks  up." 

She  rang  her  little  silver  bell,  and  in  came  Rose  with  the  break- 
fast-tray, containin'  the  teapot — the  tiniest  I  ever  seen — It  wouldn't 
hold  a  good-sizeable  glass  of  grog,  sugar-bowl  and  cream-jug  of  tho 
same  dimensions,  a  plate  of  buttered  toast  cut  into  squares  two  inch- 
es long,  aud  piled  up  like  a  high  chimney,  and  two  little  dishes  of 
presarves.  Thinks  I,  old  lady,  it  was  worth  while  to  make  a  feller 
swaller  bitteid  10  get  an  appetite  for  all  this,  warnt  it  ? 

"Will  you  try  a  little  quince.  Sir?  it  is  some  I  preserved 
myself." 

"  Quince,  is  it  1"  said  I^  "  the  best  flavour  to  my  mind  of  any 
that  is  made.  Dear  me,"  sals  I,  "  how  tender,  it's  delicious,  that's 
u  fact.     It's  easy  to  see  who  prepared  it." 

"I  am  glad  you  like  it,  Sir.  The  great  secret  is  to  pulverize  tho 
i'oaf-sugar  complete  before  it  is  put  on  the  fruit,  or  the  scum  won't 
rise  well,  and  to  cover  the  quinces  when  bilin',  if  you  want  them  to 
have  a  beautiful  colour." 

"So  I've  heard  mother  say,"  sais  I,  "and  she  was  a  grand  hand 

18* : 


If  I'fUiW 


11 


lii'l      as  i'E':!  JL'' 


210 


AUNT    THANKFUL    AND    HER    ROOM 


at  all  kiuds  of  presarving.  I've  heerd  her  say,  when  she  wanted 
anythiu'  super-superior,  she  clarified  the  syrups  first,  and  actilly 
filtered  the  water." 

"  Why,  iMr.  Slick,"  said  she,  "  how  on  airth  do  you  pick  up  all 
them  things  ?  If  I  was  a  young  lady,  I  should  be  amost  afeard  you 
knew  too  much,  so  as  to  make  you  too  particular.  Know  how  to 
preserve  quinces?     Well,  I  want  to  know  !" 

"  Yes,"  sais  I,  "  and  liow  to  eat  them  too,  when  they  are  prepared 
by  Madame  Thankful.     Mother  couldn't  hold  a  candle  to  you." 

^'Well,  I  must  say,"  she  said,  "I  do  rather  pride  myself  on  my 
quinces.  I'll  tell  you  how  I  learned  the  secret  of  it.  You  didn't 
know  Prince  Edward,  who  was  made  Duke  of  Kent,  tho'  why  I 
never  could  understand ;  for  Princes  always  seemed  bigger  than  dukes 
to  me  ?  No,  no !  you  couldn't  have  know'd  him.  Well,  he  was 
very  fond  of  presarved  quinces,  and  Mrs  Finley,  a  friend  of  Lady 
Wentworth's  (that  was  the  Governor's  lady)  used  to  prepare  them 
with  her  own  hands,  in  the  way  she  learned  to  New  Hampshire — 
for  she,  as  well  as  Sir  John,  came  from  that  colony  to  Nova  Scotia. 
I  was  on  a  visit  to  Government  House  then,  and  Mrs.  ?inley  said, 
*  Thankful  I  am  goin'  to  preserve  some  New  York  quinces  to-day  for 
his  Royal  Highness,  come  and  help  me,  and  I  will  let  you  into  the 
mysteries  of  confections.' 

"  '  What !  do  king's  sons  like  quinces?'  said  I. 

"  '  Yes,  and  kisses  too,  dear !' 

"'Oh,  Mrs.  Finley,'  said  I,  'how  you  do  talk.' 

"Well,  that's  the  way  I  larned  how  to  do  them  so  nice." 

Thinks  I  to  myself,    "  Old  lady,  which  do  you  mean  ?"   but  1 
didn't  say  so,  all  I  said  was,  "  Quinces  and  kisses  will  always  go 
•together  in  my  mind  hereafter  !" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Slick!"  said  she,  "how  you  do  go  on.  You  talk  just 
as  Mrs.  Finley  did.  Ah  me !  that  was  the  last  time  I  ever  was  in 
Halifax.  The  evcnin'  of  that  very  day  we  was  all  at  the  Prince's 
Lodge,  to  a  ball  there.  Little  did  I  think  I  was  a-talkin'  to  the 
father  of  the  future  Queen  of  England  !  '  Miss  Collingwood,'  sais 
ho,  'you  don't  seem  in  your  usual  spirits  to-night.' 

"  '  Please  your  Pioyal — '  " 

It  was  evidently  a  stereotyped  story,  all  ready  to  bind  up  in  any 
work,  and  as  there  was  somethin'  in  it  the  young  ladies  didn't  want 
me  to  hear  (for  the  night  afore  she  got  on  the  same  subject,  and  they 
drew  her  off  from  it),  i  cut  in,  "  Is  either  of  those  pictures  a  portrait 
of  him?"  said  L 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  takin'  up  a  candle,  and  pointin'  to  one  of  them, 
"that  is  his  lloyal  Highness  Prince  Edward.  Aint  ho  a  noble- 
lookin'  man  ?  He  presented  it  to  papa,  who  was  very  fond  of  him, 
and  always  said  he  was  an  excellent  officer."  And  then,  turniu'  tc 
tl<e  wjndow,  which  had  a  deep  recess  that  formed  a  seat,  she  touche( 


AUNT    THANKFUL    AND    HER    ROOM. 


211 


A  spriog,  and  opened  the  lid,  or  cover,  and  took  out  a  brass-mounted 
desk,  or  rather  small  trunk,  and  said,  —  "That,  Mr.  Slick,  con- 
tains all  the  Prince's  correspondence  with  my  father,  and  all  tho 
letters  of  his  to  others  that  could  be  collected ;  also,  his  lloyal  High- 
ness's  orderly-books,  thirteen  of  them ;  and  also  my  poor  father's 
journal,  while  the  Prince  was  here  and  at  Gibraltar,  and  all  my 
father's  cam  pains  in  the  rebellion  in  the  States." 

""  Revolution  we  call  it  now.  Madam,"  sais  I. 

"Yes,  I  know  you  do;  but  father  always  said  rebellion  was  the 
fight  name,  and  the  gallows  the  right  remedy." 

"  Back  your  cart,  Sam,"  said  I,  "  or  you'll  stick  in  that  soft  spot, 
I  know.  That  box  you  must  have  by  hook  or  by  crook,  so  put  your 
best  foot  foremost." 

"Mr.  Slick,"  said  she,  and  she  took  off  her  spectacles  and  wiped 
her  eyes,  "  that  box  contains  everythin'  valuable  that  I  possess  in 
the  world." 

"  Now,"  sais  I,  "  make  a  desperate  throw  for  that  box,  and  then 
be  off.     Except  one,"  said  I. 

"  And  what  is  that,  pray  ?" 

"The  kindest  heart,"  said  I,  "that  ever  woman  had.  If  his 
Royal  Highness  had  added  praises  to  that,  also,  when  he  admired 
the  eyes,  he  would  have  done  you  no  more  than  justice." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Slick  !"  she  said,  "don't  talk  in  that  way  I" 

"  Madam,"  said  I,  "  I  feel  hurt.  Do  you  suppose  I  would  say 
what  I  didn't  mean?  Your  brother  says  so;  your  beautiful  nieces 
say  so;  the  whole  neighbourhood  say  so ;  and  why  shouldn't  I  say 
so?  I  shall  never  forget  this  visit;  but  above  all,  this  mornin',  this 
room  —  yourself  —  that  invaluable  box.  I  admire  this  room — it's 
feminine.  It's  a  lady's  own  room  —  nothin'  male  in  it:  no  guns, 
fishin'-rods,  bows,  arrows,  moose-horns,  whips,  spurs  and  so  on.  I 
like  it,  it's  unique  and  antique,  as  they  sAy  to  the  Court  of  St. 
Jimes',  Victoria.  After  the  check  you  gave  me  jist  now,  I  won't 
say  anythin'  about  how  much  I  admire  i/oii;  but  in  two  hours,  I 
shall  hope  to  be  the  owner  of  a  perfect  sketch  of  you." 

"Oh  no,  Mr.  Slick  !  not  in  this  dress.  If  you  do  take  me,  let  it 
be  in  my  splendid  brocade — the  ball-dress  I  had  on  when  his  Royal 
Highness  said,  '  Miss  Collingwood,  you  are  not  in  your  usual  spirits 
to-night.  I  assure  you  there  has  been  no  execution  to-day,  but  what 
has  been  effected  by  your  beautiful  eyes.'  This  is  more  the  cohtuiuo 
of  the  housekeeper." 

"It  shall  be  so,"  I  said.  "I  return  this  way,  and  will  execute 
it  for  you  in  a  way  that  I  hope  will  meet  your  approbation." 

Confound  that  box !  said  I  to  myself.  I  shall  never  enveigle  her 
out  of  it ;  and  yet  have  it  I  must  and  will,  for  I  have  a  work  of  that 
kind  all  outlined  in  my  head.     I  have  it,  Sam,  said  I;  throw  all  th 


?  \i.wv^r~ 


! 


I 


212 


AUNT  THANKFUL  AND  II E  R  ROOM. 


ol)ligatinn  on  her ;  cnndescend  tn  be  so  kind  as  to  take  the  musty, 
fuatv  old  box  on  bcM'  afconnt. 

"Madam,"  said  I,  "will  you  allow  me  to  yhow  my  gratitu^Ic  in 
another  shape  ?  It's  a  pity  such  a  distinguished  officer  as  your 
father  shouldn't  have  had  justice  done  to  him  or  the  Prince's  memory 
either.     You  know  I  write  books?  " 

"  I  do,  Sir ;  and  have  often  said  to  my  }>rother :  '  Frederick,'  sais 
I,  '  where  in  the  world  did  Mr.  Slick  pick  up  so  many  curious  stories, 
nnd  so  many  odd  things  and  odd  subjects,  I  wonder  ? ' 

"  '  From  odd  people,'  said  he,  '  like  himself  " 

"Well,"  said.  I,  "nothiu'  would  give  me  greater  pleasure  than  to 
arrange  them  papers  for  publication  for  you,  and  to  have  them 
printed  free  of  expense,  for  I  know  all  the  publishers." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  she,  "  would  you,  indeed  ?  " 

"  Only  too  happy,"  siiid  T. 

"  And  you  will  give  me  b  jk  the  originals  afterwards?" 

"  Certainly,  and  as  many  copies  of  the  book  as  you  desire." 

"  'Tis  yours,  Sir,  and  hero  is  the  key;  and  I  am  greatly  indebted 
to  you.  But  Mr.  Slick,"  she  added,  "  if  there  be  anythin'  in  them 
that  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince,  or  my  father  wouldn't  approve 
of,  if  livin',  or  that  don't  convene  to  me  —  you  understand." 

"Exactly,"  sais  I.  "Wide  awake  — up  to  snuff.  Talkin'  of 
snuff,  could  you  fa  v  or  me  with  a  pinch  ?  I  think  I  saw  a  box  ou 
the  mantel-piece  ?  " 

1  did  this  to  see  if  she  took  any  ou  the  sly  j  and  findin'  she  did, 
thought  of  a  prescut  to  send  to  her.  "  Good-bye,  Madam,"  said  I. 
"  I  thank  you  kindly  for  all  your  polite  attentions,  and  must  now 
say  adieu ;  for,"  and  I  opened  the  curtain,  "  there  is  the  first  gray 
streak  of  dawn  j"  and  takin'  her  hand  in  both  mine,  bent  down 
respectfully  over  it,  and  touched  it  with  my  lips.  Then  puttin'  the 
box  under  my  arm,  proceeded  to  the  door,  Vhere  I  gave  it  to  Rose, 
takin'  the  gun  and  fishin'-rod  instead,  and  proceeded  to  the  beach. 

When  I  got  out  on  the  lawn,  I  could  not  help  thinkiu'  how  many 
onexpected  events  had  taken  place  in  this  short  visit !  What  little 
accidental  circumstances  sometimes  change  the  whole  current  of  a 
man's  life !  Was  it  an  ill  wind,  or  a  lucky  chance  that  took  me  to 
Jordan  lliver  ?  What  course  shall  I  take  ?  Adopt  dear  old  Minis- 
ter's rule  in  similar  cases,  "  Sanif  think  well  before  you  decide  '  act 
on  your  own  calm,  deliberate  judgment,  and  not  your  impulses ;  \ud 
feave  the  issue  with  Him  zoho  can  alone  direct  it,'* 


I. 


A     SINGLE    IDEA. 


213 


3  the  inusty, 

gratitu'lf  in 
ficcr  as  your 
Qce's  nietnory 

•ederick,'  sais 
urious  Rtories, 


jasure  than  to 

to  have  them 
It 

ds?"     ^' 
desire." 
rcatly  indebted 
ythin'  in  them 
>uldn't  approve 
■stand." 

if.     Talkin'  of 
I  saw  a  box  on 

findin'  she  did, 
ladam,"  said  I. 
1,  and  must  now 
s  the  first  gray 
line,  bent  down 
rbeu  puttin'  the 
[gave  it  to  Bose, 
to  the  beach, 
ikiu'  how  many 
.t !     What  little 
flo  current  of  a 
that  took  me  to 
dear  old  Minis- 
Wou  decide  '  ad 
impulses}  vid 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


A    SINGLE   IDEA. 


Poor  Aunt  Thankful  had  lived  on  a  single  idea  for  nearly  half  a 
century.  Sixteen  thousand  five  hundred  successive  days  appeared 
to  her  but  as  one  day,  and  sixteen  thousand  five  hundred  successive 
nights  but  as  one  long  night.  It  was  but  yesterday  she  assisted  in, 
preservin'  quincos  for  the  Prince,  and  only  last  ovenin'  that  he 
promenaded  with  her  on  his  arm,  and  complimented  her  on  her 
beautiful  eyes. 

That  one  idea  was  ever  uppermost  in  her  mind,  that  charmin' 
scene  ever  before  her  eyes.  Often  as  she  sat  in  her  arm-chair,  alone 
by  the  fin;  kiiittin',  would  she  wander  in  imagination  over  the  beau- 
tiful grounds  of  the  Lodge,  rest  in  one  of  the  pretty  little  Pagoda 
summer-houses,  listen  to  the  tinklin'  of  the  tiny  bells  as  they  waved 
in  the  wind,  or  look  out  on  the  wide-spread  basin,  dotted  here  and 
there  with  pleasure-boats,  from  which  rose  the  merry  peal  of  laughter, 
o"r  in  the  lone  hour  of  night  —  for  it  aint  every  one  that  makes  one 
solid  nap  of  it  as  I  do  —  wake  to  the  recollection  of  that  fine  manly 
figure,  and  hear  that  clear  commandin'  voice  say,  "  I  assure  you, 
Miss  Collingwood,  there  has  been  no  execution  to-day^  but  what  has 
been  effected  -by  your  beautiful  eyes."  Sweeter  far  than  quinco 
syrup  to  the  palate  was  that  flattcrin'  unction  to  the  mind. 

If  you  could  but  see  her  face  then ;  but  you  aint  an  owl,  and 
can't  see  in  the  dark;  but  supposin'  you  could,  wouldn't  you  see  a 
dreamy  smile  come  over  it,  for  Aunty  feels  good  all  over.  One 
little  long-drawn  sigh,  not  much  louder  than  a  baby's,  and  she  is  off 
to  sleep  agin ;  and  then  comes  a  dream  of  speculation,  that  she  don't 
indulge  in  when  awake — she  has  too  much  sense  fur  that.  "  Sposin'," 
sais  the  dreamer,  "  papa  had  loft  me  a  little  longer  at  Govt'rnment 
House,  and  his  Iloyal  Highness  had  got  his  papa's  consent  for  the 
American  beauty,  -m  they  called  me.  A  Duchess  is  such  a  pretty 
title — the  mother  of  a  queen,  perhaps  a  king — wouldn't  I  be  thankful 
then  ?  I  wonder  if  the  Duchess's  eyes  are  as  hand.sonie  as  mine  are, 
I  don't  believe  it."  Nor  I  either,  Auntv,  or  auv  Duchess  in  the 
queendom.  "Oh!  that  horrid  cock!  I  wish  it  wouldn't  crow  so 
loud  under  my  window.  If  he  hasn't  waked  mo  up  I  declare,  and 
cow  it  is  time  to  get  up,  and  call  up  Sophy  and  Mary." 

If  that  aint  bein'  happy,  it's  plaguy  near  it.  But  it  aint  au 
overly  sage  thing  to  have  only  one  idea  in  life.  Folks  want  two 
ideas  in  a  general  way,  like  two  eyes^  two  hands,  and  two  feet,  so 


214 


A    SINGLE     IDEA 


makes  me  sick.     I  can't  boar  the  smell  of  it  even 
grease.     Oh  !  I  couldn't  stand  my  own  joke  about  thyt 


Wej 


that  if  you  lose  one,  you  can  fall  back  on  the  other.  Many  a  young 
lady  has  but  one  idea — a  sort  of  trade  wind  one,  that  always  blows 
one  way — that  a  man  of  rank,  or  her  lookin'-glass,  or  hor  foolish  old 
mother,  or  her  own  vanity,  has  put  into  hor  head  that  she  is  an 
amaziu'  handsome  gall.  And  she  aint  a  bad-lookin'  heifer  neither, 
that's  a  fact.  Well,  she  flirts  with  this  one  and  that  one,  plays  one 
off  agin  another,  keeps  'cm  on  hand  like  till  a  better  one  comes,  and 
cracks  hearts  like  hickory  nuts. 

Well,  the  men  get  tired  of  flirtin',  drop  off  one  by  one,  and  get 
married,  and  the  better  one  that  she  has  been  waitiu'  fur  so  long, 
don't  come;  and  she  opens  her  eyes  some  fine  day,  and  says: 
"  Hullo  !  what  in  natur  is  all  this  ?  As  I'm  a  livin'  dinner,  hero 
are  grey  hairs  in  my  head  !  and  I  haven't  so  much  as  I  used  to  have; 
it's  actilly  gettin'  thin  !  See  how  the  comb  fetches  it  out  too  1  I 
must  see  to  this.     I'll  use  neat's  foot  oil.     Phew  !  the  very  idea 

11,  bear's 
I  fairly 
plagued  old  Miss  Bantam  out  of  hor  wits,  by  telling  her  it  would 
bring  out  fur  instead  of  hair,  and  she  would  have,  a  bear-skin.  I 
wish  now  I  hadn't  made  that  foolish  speech,  for  bear's  grease  aint 
bad,  that's  a  fact.  Well,  there  is  tricopherus,  how  will  that  do? 
It's  a  very  hard  word  to  })ronounce,  and  there  is  no  rememberin'  it; 
but  them  things  aint  to  be  talked  of.  ]Jut  oh  !  my  gracious !  I 
never  had  my  glass  arranged  this  way  before.  I  did  it  to  examin' 
my  hair.  But  what  on  airth  are  them  little  squares  on  the  fore- 
head ?  Wrinkles!  Nonsense,  they  can't  be.  You.  arc  only — let's 
see  how  old  you  arc.  Take  twenty  from  fifty-two,  and  that  leaves 
thirty-two,  and  two  years  I  stood  still  at  twenty-five,  makes  thirty- 
four.  People  oughtn't  to  count  that  way  after  twenty-five,  for  thj 
years  run  twice  as  quick  tlien  as  before.  I'll  try  to  cipher  it  that 
way.  Twenty-five  from  thirty-four,  leaves  nine  —  half  of  nine  is 
four  and  a  half— twenty-five  and  four  and  a  half  makes  twenty-nine 
and  a  half — that  is  my  age  exactly.  I  thought  there  must  be  some 
mistake. 

Now  let's  examine  them  little  squares  agin — wrinkles  sproutin' 
up  as  sure  as  dog  days.  How  strange,  and  nie  only  twenty-nine  and 
u  half  years  old !  i  must  take  care  how  I  sit  in  the  light.  Self- 
examination  that  the  parsons  recommends  so  strongly  may  be  a  very 
good  thing,  but  it  aint  a  very  pleasant  one.  But  go  through  with  it 
uow  you  are  at  it.  How  are  the  teeth  i*  \Vhy  what  has  come  over 
me  ?  I  never  noticed  them  little  specks  before !  Shockin'  bad 
state ! — some  must  come  out  and  others  go  in.  I  declare  my  heart's 
broke  ! 

So  she  rings  the  bell,  orders  breakfast  in  bed,  and  don't  get  up 
again  that  day,  and  sends  word  to  her  mother  she  has  a  slight  head- 
nche,  and  will  darken  her  room,  and  try  to  go  to  sleep.     All  that 


A     SINGLE    IDEA 


215 


y  a  young 
iTuya  blows 
foolish  old 
she  is  an 
er  neither, 
;,  plays  one 
conies,  and 

ne,  and  get 
for  so  long, 
and  suys: 
thinner,  hero 
sed  to  have ; 
out  too  1     I 
10  very  idea 
Well,  bear's 
at.     I  fairly 
her  it  would 
)ear-skin.     I 
i  grease  aint 
mU  that  do? 
nemberin'  it; 
r  gracious!  1 
it  to  examin* 
on  the  fore- 
■c  only — let's 
that  leaves 
nukes  thirty- 
|y-live,  for  tV.j 
lipher  it  that 
If  of  nine  is 
s  twenty-nine 
.ust  be  some 

Lies  sproutin' 
enty-nine  and 
light.  Self- 
liay  be  a  very 
Irough  with  it 
Las  come  over 
IShockin'  bad 
(re  my  heart's 

don't  get  up 

[i  slight  head- 

,     AH  that 


•o«x»*^«  of  haviii'  only  one  idea,  and  wearin*  that  till  it  begins  to  giv6 
out  from  long  use.  And  I  have  an  idea  that  gill  will  either  die  a 
«iour  old  maid,  or  have  to  take  a  crooked  stick  for  a  husband  at  last. 
I'll  bet  six  cents  I  can  tell  the  name  of  the  wine  she'll  take  in 
^rinkin'.  It  will  be  Trymanner  and  Strum  ph  wine.  Try  manner  is 
so  awful  sour,  it  takes  three  people  to  get  it  down.  One  is  laid  flat 
on  the  table,  a  second  holds  the  hands  down,  and  the  third  pours  it 
into  the  mouth.  -Strumph  is  stoekin'  wine,  for  it  is  so  a.string(>nt, 
if  you  pou;  it  into  a  stoekin'  that  has  a  hole  in  it,  it  will  pucker  up 
BO,  it  won't  require  no  darnin'  or  mendin'.  Yes,  that  will  be  her 
fate,  l^fovv  there  was  a  great  diflbrence  between  her  and  Aunt 
Thanl^ful  Aunty  had  but  one  idea,  but  she  knew  the  consequence, 
and  wouldn't  give  it  up  but  with  her  life.  The  other  critter  had  but 
one  also,  and  didn't  know  the  consequence  of  bavin'  sucli  an  artful 
domestic  obout  her  toilet-table  as  vanity,  till  she  missed  the  roses  on 
her  cheek. 

Well,  that  one  idea  aint  confined  to  women.  Many  a  man  has  it, 
and  fancies  he  is  a  very  killin'  feller,  and  never  doubts  it  in  the 
least,  tho'  he  gets  pretty  broad  hints,  now  and  then,  to  get  another 
idea  into  his  head.  The  galls  are  absent  when  he  talks  to  them 
(that  he  puts  down  to  bad  manners,  and  ho  don't  think  they  are  as 
well  bred  as  they  used  to  be),  and  the  old  ladies  take  to  patronizin* 
him  strangely,  but  they  are  of  tho  old  school,  and  always  was 
perlite. 

Well,  one  night  at  a  ball,  a  stoutish  woman,  remarkably  good- 
lookin'  for  her  ago,  and  with  a  face  beamin'  with  delight  and  eyes 
sparklin'  with  joy,  leanin'  on  the  arm  of  an  active,  athletic  young 
man— a  leftenant  in  the  navy — who,  in  spite  of  the  ugly  navy  uni- 
form, looks  better  than  any  one  else  there,  slowly  promenades  up  the 
room  as  if  proud  of  her  escort,  and  looks  up  into  his  face  as  if  she 
had  no  eyes  for  any  one  but  him.  Says  single-idead  bachelor:  "I 
don't  like  &  ha  public  exhibition  of  flirtiu'.  Such  admiration  in 
public  aint  hardly  decent."  The  sooner  you  leave  this  station,  young 
man,  the  better  for  that  silly  woman,  and  you  too.  Perhaps  you 
don't  know  her  husband  is  livin',  aud  a  dead  shot,  too — snuff  a  can- 
dle at  twenty  paces  with  a  ball  without  so  much  as  flickerin'  the 
light. 

Well,  it  will  make  promotion,  at  any  rate.  When  the  lady  stops, 
and  calls  the  one-idead,  but  many-wrinkled  baclielor  to  her,  who 
bows  like  an  old  monkey,  his  chin  stickin'  out  in  front,  and  his  coat- 
tails  behind. 

''Mr.  Bachelor,  allow  me  to  introduce  my  son  to  you — Lieutenant 
Tiller,  of  the  navy.  He  has  just  returned  from  Rangoon,  where,  I 
iuu  haf  py  to  say,  he  distinguished  himself,  and  has  been  appointed 
flag-' ivu tenant  to  Admiral  Sir  John  Growler,  on  board  the  'Bull 


II 


•210 


A     SINGLE    IDEA, 


Bachelor  bows,  makes  civil  speeches  to  both,  hopes  ho  Bhall  see  a 
good  deal  of  him,  iirid  returns  to  a  comer  and  roflocts. 

"I'd  as  soon  see  tin;  devil  as  that  sea  fiarpent,"  he  sais  to  liimself. 
*<  He  makes  mo  fed  old.  Flag-licutcnant  to  the  udiiiiral !  I  am 
glad  of  it  J  you  will  lead  the  life  of  a  dog.  They  shouldn't  have 
Hcnt  you  to  sea.  You  have  outgrown  your  strength,  and  are  too  tall 
for  bctween-dccks.  I8  it  possible,  this  mcment')-mori  i"  the  son  of 
little  Mary  Dawson,  or  that  little  Mary  ]):iwj<nn,  fliat  was  mov  >  like 
a  gazelle  than  any  thin'' else,  is  fat  Mrs.  Tiller,  She  don't  take  care 
of  herself.  They  married  her  too  early,  and  that  plays  the  devil 
with  women ;  and  she  looks  as  if  she  drank  brown  stout  at  Juncli. 
She  can't  be  so  old  either.  It  is  only  the  other  day  I  was  called  to 
the  bar,  and  I  recollect  that  year  I  lifted  her  into  a  cherry-tree  to 
gather  fruit,  when  she  show'd  such  a  foot  and  ankle,  and  perhaps  a 
few  inches  more,  as  never  mortal  man  beheld.  Poor  thing!  she  has 
fed  coarsely  since  then,  and  vealed  her  calf,  I  stxppose  I  What  a 
pity  it  is  women  don't  take  care  of  themselves,  for  they  don't  wear 
as  well  as  we  men  do  in  a  general  way.  Still,  confound  it !  it  docs 
make  me  feel  old,  too  !" 

Well,  so  you  are  old !  The  crows'  feet  at  the  corners  of  your 
eyes  are  as  large  as  the  prints  they  leave  in  the  {;and,  when,  like  you, 
they  are  a  feedin'  on  what  the  tide  has  loft  of  the  wracks  of  the  dead. 
You  are  too  old  to  marry  now.  Adopt  that  handsome  Icftenant,  and 
leave  him  your  monev. 

"What I  me?" 

"Yes,  you."  • 

«<What!  him?"  / 

"Yes,  him." 

He  springs  right  up  on  eend,  and  says : 

"I'll  see  him  d—<i  first?" 

And  cuts  out  of  the  room,  and  makes  tracks  for  home. 

Oh  !  ray  one-idcad  lawyer,  that  blow  over  the  pate  of  your  vanity 
has  let  a  new  light  into  it,  1  guess,  and  made  a  crack  big  enough  for 
a  new  idea  to  enter  it.  Put  that  down  on  your  hricf^  that  life  itself 
is  too  brief  h;i  half  to  he  fooled  awen/  on  one  idea  only. 

One  idea  aint  confined  to  looks  neither.  Mr,  and  Mrs.  and  tlie 
Misses  and  the  young  gentlemen  Nobodies  are  very  apt,  especially  in 
a  country  like  this,  where  it  is  all  small  beer,  to  have  one  grand  idea 
that  haunts  them  day  and  night,  starches  their  cravates  or  muslins, 
Gtifi'ens  the  upper  lip,  and  keeps  their  chins  up — and  that  is  that 
they  aro  somebodies.  There  is  some  excuse  for  the  idea  about  looks 
— it  is  a  nateral  one,  and  only  hurts  oneself;  but  the  other,  tlie 
grand  idea,  nmkes  folks  a  nuisance,  and  causes  other  people  to  have 
an  idea  that  they  hate  them.      » 

To  claim  .stqxrioj'ify  is  to  attempt  to  paffs  another  on  the  road, 
'  '  im  to  take  the  dta^t.    In  a  mineral  way  that  fi" 


compt 


gent 


i!i  m 


A     8 I N  G  L  K     IDEA. 


217 


phall  see  a 

to  Innipclf. 
al !     I  am 
il(\n't  have 
arc  too  tall 
the  son  of 
8  niov .»  liko 
;t  take  caro 
rs  tho  devil 
X  at  Junch. 
'as  called  to 
icrry-trco  to 
id  f orbaps  a 
,x\g !  she  has 
el     Wliat  a 
sy  don't  wear 
d  it  I  it  does 

■nevs  of  your 
ben,  like  yon, 
:s  of  the  dead. 
Icftenant,  and 


me. 

nf  your  vanity 
jig  enough  for 
'hat  Ufa  'itself 
u, 

J  Mrs.  and  the 
It,  csppcially  in 
tne  gvand  idea 
ks  or  uiuslius*, 
Id  that  is  that 
lea  about  looks 
Itlie  other,  the 
Tftople  to  have 

■r  on  (lie  road, 
Lt  aint  genteel, 


onlops  thore  in  a  lady  in  the  case.  Pride  ami  ripskii'tiKm  donU  con- 
rene.  Tlio'  the  oil  /loafs,  the  tximhlcr  is  nrnrh/  full  of  vafrr,  and 
thi'  <jla»s  shaira  if — th''  oil  is  wasltd,  and  the  icafcr  nioilt.  Tlicre 
aint  enoufjh  of  the.  one  for  a  lamp,  hut  there  is  enoiajii  of  the  other 
to  make  the  litjht  sputter,  ^ind  put  it  out. 

'' Grandpapa  was  a  eomnjodore  in  the  British  navy,"  says  Miss 
Nobody. 

*'  The  devil  he  was !  And  what  was  he  before  he  was  a  commo* 
dore?" 

*'  Why  an  officer,  to  bo  sure." 

"  And  who  was  his  father  ?" 

"  A  tinrnnn." 

"  "Well,  that  will  do  to  tinker  up  a  pedigree.  Died  poor,  didn't 
he?" 

"Well,  ho  didn't  lay  up  anythin'.  Exactly,  he  begun  life  and 
ended  it  without  money." 

"  It  is  a  pity  ho  didn't  stick  to  his  trade,  if  ho  had,  his  tin  would 
have  stuck  to  him." 

"  Well,  grandma  was  a  great  beauty." 

"Yes,  and  her  face  now  looks  as  wrinkled  as  a  cabbage-leaf.  I 
recollect  her  well,  when  the  rausic-mastcr  gave  up  her  daughter,  your 
mother,  because  she  had  no  capacity.  She  said  she  would  send  to 
London  and  buy  her  one." 

"  Well,  grandpa  on  tlie  other  side — " 

"Do  vou  moan  the  other  side  of  the  water?" 

"How  piovnkiu'  you  are!  no,  on  the  maternal  side." 

"  Oh  !  now  I  understand,  the  matronly  side.  Yes,  yes,  now  I 
have  it!  matron  of  a  hospital,  and  married  the  doctor,  who  became  a 
P.M.O.,  and  Uaed  to  call  her  his  diacolon-plaster,  she  used  to  stick 
so  clo.«e  to  him.  Poor  thiug !  she  thought  him  very  killin',  and  she 
wasn't  far  out  of  the  way.  Doctors  excel  in  killin'.  Hut  don't  cry, 
dear,  you  brought  it  on  your.self  by  a  bit  of  brag.  T  should  have 
forgot  it  all  if  you  hadn't  called  my  attention  to  it.  That  comes  of 
the  grand. idea  of  being  somebody.  Let.  the  dead  he  ,  ire  dont  often 
inherif  their  falciiff^  or  ihrlr  money ;  and  if  ice  did^  why  should,  ice 
he  answerable  for  their  follies?'' 

If  you  boast  your  claim  to  be  a  bigger  bug  than  others,  if  your 
claim  is  disputed  and  you  get  wounded  in  the  conflict,  it's  your  own 
tault.  Modesty  is  he:..:  >':/  forward  and  made  way  for.  Assump' 
tion  has  the  door  shui  /;■  ':.;faee.  If  you  really  have  an  old  name, 
and  belong  to  an  old  family,  do  somethin'  to  show  the  value  of  it. 
JOrau  ?',,•  a  dog  that  everybody  hatr.<,  hut  nobody  fears,  for  he  only 
hoiv-icows;  but  he  ioahr>^  up  detraction,  and  he  is  a  damjerous 
critter,  for  lie  bi(''s  wilhont  barl'in*. 

In  society  oue-idead  men  are  awful  bore:'.     London  is  chock  full 
of  them,  as  my  fruit-treos  to  Slickville  used  to  be  of  an  insect  of 
1ft 


-iCp-r^r 


Ifiii^ 


i*.    a 


I    *^ 


I 

1' 


I 


I 


£ 


1 


218 


A     SINGLE     IDEA. 


that  name,  till  I  larned  how  to  get  rid  of  them.  Vou  will  get  near 
a  nninj/  at  table  who  can't  talk  about  anjthiu'  but  iVi'ncvah,  till  you 
think  he  must  have  been  dug  up  there. 

Another  fellow  is  mad  aftei  mummies;  if  he  was  only  dummy  or 
mummy  himself,  it  wouldn't  be  so  bad,  but  his  tongue  runs  like  a 
mill  race,  ftis  hair  smells  of  the  horrid  embalmin'  s. aff  which  he 
has  been  analyzin',  and  at  first  you  think  spontaneous  combustion 
has  commenced.  The  only  way  is  to  make  fun  of  him,  and  shut 
him  up. 

"  Great  prize  to-day,  Mr.  Slick ;  I  got  one  of  Pharer's  darters." 

"  What's  the  colour !" 

"  Deep  claret." 

"She  wasn't  a  Fair-rr's  darter  then,  but  a  darJcic's  gall?" 

lie  don't  take  at  first,  for  the  pun  aint  so  plain  as  a  hyrogriphic, 
bO  on  he  goes. 

"  A  beautiful  specimen,  Sir." 

"Thin?" 

"  Rather  so." 

"  Then  she  was  one  of  Pharaoh's  lean  kine  ?" 

He  stares  at  that. 

"Aint  you  afraid  of  infeetion,"  sais  I,  "a  handlin'  the  gall  that 
way?" 

"  No,  not  at  all." 

"I  wouldn't  touch  her  on  no  account,"  sais  I;  "for  she  must 
have  been  one  of  the  pla(/nes  of  Egypt.  I  guess  she  must  be  wuss 
than  the  canister  meat  government  sent  to  the  North  Pole,  and  that 
vras  so  bad  it  poisoned  the  foxes.  I  have  an  idea  the  Egyptians  were 
cannibals,  and  these  bodies  were  those  of  their  captives,  who  wero 
killed,  spiced,  baked,  and  put  away  for  feasts.  Did  you  ever  tasto 
one  to  see  if  it  had  been  cooked?" 

That  shuts  him  up.  He  turns  to  his  next  neighbour,  and  earwigs 
Lim  by  ilio  hour.  Another  critter  is  mad  on  church  architecture. 
I  had  no  iilea  of  being  crammed  myself,  so  I  turn  to  and  crams  him. 
He  squares  round  to  you,  his  eye  lights  up,  and  he  is  all  ijnimation. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  church  architecter,  Mr.  Slick  ?  It  is  a  beau- 
tiful study." 

I  look  all  aghast. 

"  Cant't  bear  to  think  of  it,"  sais  I,  "much  less  to  speak  of  it, 
since  a  dreadful  accident  happened  to  a  friend  of  mine  to  Michigan. 
He  thought  of  nothin'  else  but  buildin'  a  new  church,  morniu',  noon, 
and  night;  and  after  years  of  study  and  savin',  and  beggin',  ho 
finished  a'must  a  beautiful  one.  AVel),  he  no  sooner  urot  it  out  of  his 
head  than  he  got  it  into  his  sstomacli.  lie  fancied  he  had  swallerod 
it;  all  the  doctors  told  him  he  wns  a  fool,  and  left  him,  and  he  re- 
turned the  compliment  and  called  them  fools.  My  brother,  tho 
doctor  and  I  was  truvellin'  theie  at  tho  time,  and  when  he  heard  it, 


A     SINGLE     IDEA 


219 


I  get  near 
b,  till  you 

dummy  or 
•UU3  like  a 
which  he 
;ombustion 
.  aud  shut 


darters 


>> 


I?" 
lyrogriphic, 


the  gall  that 


or  she  must 
aust  be  wuss 
ule,  aud  that 
jyptiuus  were 
3S,  who  were 
u  ever  tasto 

,  and  earwigs 
architcctuve. 

d  crams  him. 

lU  iiuimation. 
It  is  a  beau- 


speak  of  it, 
to  Michigan. 
orniu',nooa, 


11 


bfggin,  ho 
t  it  out  of  bi9 
lud  SNvallered 
u),  aud  he  ro- 

brother,  tho 
n  he  heard  it, 


'  Sam/  said  he,  <  everybody  a'most  is  mad  in  some  respect  or  another, 
as  you  are  on  human  nafur'  and  soft  sawder.' 

"  '  I'll  cure  him,  but  I  must  humour  him.  Mr.  Sternhold,'  sais 
he,  '  this  is  a  curious  complaint,  but  I  knew  a  case  just  like  it. 
Fulton  once  swallowed  a  steamboat,  and  I  knew  several  who  swal- 
lowed a  sea-serpent.  I  can  cure  you.  Fortunately  the  church  is  of 
wood.  I'll  knock  the  pins  out  of  the  frame,  take  it  to  pieces,  and 
have  it  put  up  again ;  but  the  tenants  fit  into  the  mortises  so  tight, 
I  must  use  plenty  of  ile  to  make  them  separate  easy.'  And  he  dark- 
ened the  room,  and  gave  him  awful  doses  of  castor  ile. 

"  Next  week,  sais  he,  '  T  have  got  the  doors  and  windows  off  safe 
and  sound,  and  lowered  the  steeple  to  the  floor.' 

**  Next  week  one  side  and  one  end  were  off,  and  the  next  it  was 
all  took  to  pieces  safe  and  put  up  again. 

'  Says  he,  '  Sternhold,  some  wicked  profane  person  has  wished  that 
churc'  in  your  stomach,  and  the  devil,  who  is  full  of  tricks,  helped 
him  to  his  wish  out  of  mischief.  Now  you  must  pray  that  it  may 
remain  where  it  is,  but  take  more  ile,  for  that  church  has  tore  you  a 
considerable  sum.  When  you  are  better,  come  and  see  jne  to  Charles- 
town.' 

"It  cured  him,  but  it  nearly  killed  me  to  see  him  in  that  state. 
I  can't  bear  to  hear  of  church  architecture  since  then," 
It  choked  him  off. 
"What  a  strange  story !"  said  he. 

Thinks  I  to  myself^  "  It's  quite  as  strange  you  too  should  swaller 
that  identical  church  yourself." 

It's  different  now  in  business  —  one  grand  idea  of  makin'  money 
—  and  when  you  have  made  it,  savin'  it  commonly  succeeds  in  the 
long  run.  If  a  rich  man,  that  has  got  his  fortin  all  himself,  was  to 
divide  his  money  into  two  heaps  before  he  died,  and  put  into  one 
what  he  had  made,  and  into  the  other  what  he  had  saved,  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten  the  saved  heap  would  be  the  biggest.  It  is  easier 
to  make  monei/  than  to  save  it ;  one  is  exertion,  the  other  self-denial. 
It  is  harder  to  refuse  others  than  yourself,  for  the  skin  is  nearer  than 
the  shirt.  A  critter  that  saves,  therefor',  as  well  as  makes  money, 
must  in  the  natur'  of  things  eend  by  bein'  as  rich  as  a  Jew.  The 
one  idea  takes  in  everythin'  needful  for  riches.  Money  is  a  thing 
people  know  by  sight ;  but  there  aint  any  body  but  your  single-idea 
men  that  know  its  natcr;  and  it  is  lucky  they  don't,  for  there  loould 
he  nofortins  '9  he  made  if  there  weren't  fools  to  spend 'em.  I  knew 
an  awful  rich  man  to  London  of  the  name  of  Zimenes,  the  richest 
man  there,  or  any  where  I  suppose  a'most :  well  he  made  it  all  him- 
self. He  wanted  some  information  from  me  about  the  States,  and 
lie  asked  me  to  dine  with  him. 

"Mr.  Slick,"  sais  he,  "could  you  dine  as  early  as  two?  that  is 
Qiy  hour,  when  I  dine  alone  in  the  city." 


h 


m 


I 


220 


A    SINGLE    IDEA. 


"  Dino  at  any  time,"  sais  I.  "I  am  used  to  travelliu'.  Hours 
tcaa  tini'J)'.  /or  man,  ami  not  man  fur  hours.  A  critter  who  is  a 
slave  to  A/V;  viol  rules  if  his  oini  liiejgcr.  I  am  a  fVeo  citizen  ;  I 
(Inn't  calculate  to  let  otliei'  folks  fetter  me,  and  I  aint  such  a  fool  ag 
to  fctto)'  myself.  When  jhols  make  sociefi/,  its  rules  can^t  alicat/s  he 
tcise.  When  a  eu,<tum  can  and  ought  to  dc  folloioed,  folUr  it. 
Wlien  it  etnit,  set  your  own  compass,  and  steer  r/our  own  course. 
That's  my  way  of  tliiuki.i' ;  but  still  in  a  pjeneral  way,  if  you  want 
the  world  to  be  with  you,  you  must  be  with  the  world.  Yes,  I'll 
dine  with  you  with  pleasure." 

lie  eyed  mo  all  over,  as  a  man  docs  a  highly-priced  nnw,  to  see 
whether  it's  paste  or  a  diamond.  I  knew  what  was  passin'  in  his 
mind.  It  was  this :  by  the  beard  of  Moses  !  but  that  is  pretty  well 
for  a  Clockmaker.  I  wonder  if  there  is  one  of  the  craft  in  London 
could  talk  in  that  way.    But  he  said  nothing. 

Well  at  live  minutes  to  two  I  rings,  for  it  takes  five  minutes  to 
got  into  a  house,  unease,  and  slick  the  hair  up  ;  and  a  servant  showed 
me  throuoh  a  narrowish  entry  into  a  small  sittin'-room.  As  I 
entered  one  door,  he  came  through  another ;  for  a  oue-idead  man 
knows  time  is  money,  and  you  have  no  more  right  to  rob  him  of  one 
than  of  the  other.  If  you  take  a  shillin'  from  a  feller,  you  are  had 
up  for  it  and  punished.  If  you  take  half  an  hour  of  his  time,  which 
p'raps  is  worth  more  pounds  than  minutes,  you  aint  even  repri- 
manded. It  is  a  pity  kickin'  is  gone  out  of  fashion,  for  a  feller  that 
keeps  you  waitin'  richly  desarves  one. 

'•  You're  puuctuality  itself,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  he,  .smilin',  for  it 
pleased  him. 

"The  same  time,"  sais  I,  "is  given  to  all  men  —  twenty-four 
hours  a-day.  It  was  ordained  so  on  purpose  for  appointments,  that 
all  might  know  and  govern  themselves  accordingly,  as  proclamations 
say." 

When  I  looked  round  the  room,  I  saw  it  was  plain  furnished, 
nothin'  to  be  remarked  but  tw  or  three  old  paiutins.  Thinks  I, 
when  I  am  showed  into  dinner,  he  is  agoin'  to  astonish  my  wenk 
narves  with  his  splendour ;  but  I  am  not  easily  scared,  even  if  I  do 
sec  my  own  mug  in  a  silver-plate;  but  he  is  rich  enough,  I  do  sup- 
pose, to  have  fairies  wait  upon  him.  Just  then  the  servant  announced 
dinner;  and  touchin'  a  secret  spring  on  the  oak  wall,  a  door  opened, 
and  we  entered  another  room  of  the  same  size,  furnished  nmch  in 
the  same  way,  only  there  was  a  small  sideboard,  a  celeret  under  it, 
and  some  dinner  fixins  on  it.  It  was  a  plain  dinner  for  two,  sup- 
jiosin'  one  of  them  to  have  no  great  appetite ;  the  desert  and  the 
wine  was  the  oidy  costly  things  about  it. 

He  only  played  with  his  dinner,  but  he  was  death  on  fruit,  and 
the  way  he  pitched  into  that  was  a  caution  to  schoolboys.  In 
fact  hfl  diued  off  of  it.  After  takin'  a  glass  or  two  of  wine,  I  cried 
quits. 


A     SINGLE    IDEA 


221 


'.     Hoiin 

who  is  a 
citizen  ;  I 
h  a  fool  aa 

aJwdijs  he 
,  foli'.r  it. 
ricn  course. 
f  you  want, 
,    'Yes,  I'll 

ring,  to  see 
issiu'  in  his 
,  pretty  well 
t  in  ]jondon 

minutes  to 
vuut  showed 
ooui.  As  I 
le-idead  man 
b  him  of  one 

you  are  had 
3  time,  which 
t  even  rcpri- 
^  a  feller  that 

milin',  for  it 

twenty-four 
itments,  that 
^roclumations 

lin  furnished, 
Thinks  I, 
nish  my  weak 
.  oven  ii  I  do 
igh,  I  do  sup- 
uit  announced 
.  door  opened, 
ished  much  in 
cret  under  it, 
for  two,  sup- 
iesert  tind  the 


"  You  have  drank  nothin',"  he  said. 

"  That's  the  advantage  of  early  dinin'/'  I  replied.  You  must 
mule/' 

''  Mule  ! "  said  he,  "  what's  that  ?  " 

*'  Stiek  out  your  fore  feet,"  sais  I,  "  lay  back  in  the  britchen,  and 
look  as  if  all  the  eoaxin'  and  boatin'  in  the  world  wouldn't  mako 
you  alter  your  mind." 

He  smiled.  I  don't  think  that  man  ever  laughed,  unless  when 
he  was  bit,  and  then  it  must  be  like  a  hyena,  one  wouldn't  want  to 
see  it  again. 

"  You  njust  be  temperate  if  you  dine  early;  there  is  too  much  to 
do  arterwards,  to  sit  drinkm',  and  you  oughtn't,  and  can't  do  it. 
You  can  *  drinky  for  dry,'  as  the  niggers  say,  but  you  can't  'drinky 
for  drink.'  " 

He  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  mused,  and  said  half  aloud,  "  So 
saith  the  Prophet,  *  woe  unto  them  that  rise  up  early,  that  they 
may  follow  strong  drink,  and  continue  until  night  till  wine  inflames 
them.'  " 

''  I  hate  extremes,"  sais  I,  "  good  liquor  is  like  good  singin',  few 
have  the  right  taste,  some  you  can't  get  a-goin',  and  some  you  can't 
stop.  Use  but  not  abuse,  that's  my  rule.  Now,  Sir,  your  time  is 
precious,  don't  stand  on  ceremony  with  me." 

V/ell,  he  put  a  number  of  questions  to  me  about  the  rael  value, 
and  the  bottom  and  good  faith  of  most  of  the  American  stock* 

''I  don't  want  to  know  what  their  prices  are,"  said  he,  ''that  I 
have  got;  I  want  to.  know  where  dishonesty  lies  hid,  and  repudiation 
is  in  ambush,  where  speculation  has  been  reckless,  and  where  it  is 
based  on  solid  data." 

He  warmed,  and  as  he  warmed  he  showed  to  advantage  I  tell  you. 
I  answered  nim  short  up  to  the  pint,  gave  him  all  he  wanted  on 
each,  and  no  more  nor  no  less.  When  he  had  done,  he  thanked  me, 
and  said  he  had  got  more  information  in  five  minutes  from  me,  than 
he  could  in  a  general  way  get  in  a  whole  day  out  of  any  of  my 
countrymen,  who,  ho  said,  never  answered  direct,  and  so  on. 

'•  Is  thel-e  anythin'  I  can  do  for  you,  V.r.  Slick  ?  you  ought  to  be 
a  rich  man,  for  you  have  a  bui,ines.s  head  and  business  habits." 

"  Well,"  sais  1,  "I  wam't  say  I  aint  well  off  for  the  likes  of  me, 
hut  I  made  my  money  in  a  small  way,  and  I  haven't  the  knowledge 
or  the  courage  to  risk  jt.  If  I  might  be  so  bold,  if  it  aint  an  impe- 
t  cut  question,  what  is  the  secret  of  your  great  success  in  the  world  ?" 
''Certainly,"  said  he,  "I'll  answer  it  with  pleasure.  It's  a  tho- 
ifiugh  knowledge  of  the  natur',  uses,  and  properties  of  money.  It 
is  the  most  prolific  thing  in  the  world.  I  deal  in  money,  and  not 
iQ  merchandize,  and  its  growth  almost  defies  figures." 

He  then  touched  a  bell,  and  a  tall,  thin,  thoughtful-lookiu'  clerk 
came  in,  when  Zimenea,  takin'  out  his  pencil,  wrote  down  soraethiu*, 
19* 


^llfllT 


222 


A     SINGLE    IDEA. 


■it 


and  said  :  "  Cop}'  that  from  Gregory's  Dictionary,  and  bring  it  here 
with  an  envelope  and  a  pen  and  ink."  In  a  monoent  almost  he 
returned,  handed  him  a  slip  of  paper  and  the  other  things,  and 
vanished. 

"Perhaps  you  have  never,"  said  he,  "fully  considered  the  enor- 
mous increase  of  money.  Here  is  a  short  calculation  which  will 
surprise  you,  I  think.  A  penny  at  five  per  cent  simple  interest,  for 
eighteen  hundred  years,  amounts  to  seven  shillings  and  sevenpence 
halfpenny ;  but  at  compound  interest,  it  would  be  a  larger  sum  than 
could  be  contained  in  six  hundred  millions  of  globes,  each  equal  to 
the  earth  in  magnitude,  and  all  of  solid  gold." 

We  was  standin'  then,  and  it  made  me  feel  as  if  I  must  let  oif 
steam  or  bust  with  astonishment. 

"Heavens  and  airth,"  sais  I. 

"No,  no,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "it  is  written  'Not  by  Heaven,  for 
it  is  His  throne,  nor  the  Earth,  for  it  is  His  footstool.' " 

It  almost  took  away  my  breath  that  remark,  for  it  astonished  me 
more  than  the  other. 

"What  a  pity  it  is,"  said  I,  "you  were  not — "  but  I  stopped. 

"  A  Christian,"  .ctiid  he.  "  Finish  the  sentence,  and  we  will  let 
it  rest  there,  if  you  please." 

Foldin'  the  calculation  up,  he  put  it  into  the  envelope,  and  ad- 
dressed it  with  his  own  hands  :  "  For  the  Hon.  Sara  Slick,  with  Mr. 
Zimer.es'  compliments,"  and  handed  it  to  me. 

"  3Ir.  Zimenes,,'  said  I,  "  if  there  are  any  of  my  answers  unsatis- 
factory, I  have  means  of  the  most  accurate  information  here  which 
none  but  an  American  can  get.  Send  for  me,  and  I  am  at  your 
sarvice." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  he;  and  we  shook  tands.  "I 
shall  not  fail  to  do  so  if  I  require  it;  and  you  on  your  part,  if  you 
want  tipital,  let  mo  know  the  object  and  the  amount." 

Creation,  said  I,  as  I  got  into  the  street,  if  Solomon  knew  only 
half  as  much  as  that  man  does  about  money,  he'd  k  built  his  temple 
all  of  solid  gold.  There  is  one  idea  fully  carried  out  at  any  rate.  A 
man  that  has  many  ideas  may  be  a  clever  man,  but  a  clever  man 
never  makes  money  —  he  has  too  much  genius.  Well  how  many 
ideas  ought  a  man  to  have  then  ?  Why  a  man  ought  to  have  one 
great  idea,  and  some  small  ones  to  rub  against  it,  so  that  they  may 
all  be  kept  bright.  The  grand  one  is  to  be  taken  care  of  and  never 
lost  sight  of,  the  little  ones  will  do  for  daily  use,  and  serve  as  small 
change.  The  more  ideas  you  have  beyond  them,  like  the  more  wiW 
land  or  self-righteousness  you  possess,  the  poorer  you  be. 

AT   LEAST   that's    MY   IDEA. 


I    'f 


AN    EXTENSIVE    I' LAN    OF    REFORM. 


2^ 


ing  it  here 

almost  he 

ihings,  and 

>d  the  cnor- 
which  will 

interest,  for 
seveupence 

er  sum  than 

ach  equal  to 

nust  let  off 


]  Heaven,  hr 

stonishcd  me 

I  stopped, 
d  we  will  let 

lope,  and  ad- 
lick,  with  Mr. 

wers  unsatis- 
n  here  which 
|I  am  at  your 

iinnds.     "I 
iv  part,  if  you 


Ml 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

AN  EXTENSIVE  PLAN  OF  REFORM. 

From  Jordan  we  proceeded  to  Sable  River,  but  ueuily  all  the  in- 
habitants were  absent  at  Port  Jolly,  where  a  great  political  meetin' 
was  to  he  held,  and  thither  we  directed  our  course  immediately. 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  said  Eldad,  "did  you  ever  see  such  a  beautiful  schoal 
of  mackerel  in  your  life,  as  we  nre  now  passin'  through  ?  the  water 
is  actually  alive  with  them.  Instead  of  reformin'  the  provincial 
government,  what  a  pity  it  is  these  folks  wouldn't  reform  their 
h?bits;  and,  instead  of  makin'  speeches,  and  wastin'  their  time, 
turn  to  and  make  seins,  and  catch  the  fish  that  Providence  has  sent 
in  such  immense  numbers  up  to  their  very  doors,  leapin'  out  of  the 
water  to  show  themselves,  as  much  as  to  say,  come  and  catch  us  be- 
fore the  Yankees  do,  for  you  have  the  best  right  to  us,  seein'  the  coast 
is  yours.  Were  you  ever  up  to  Labrador,  Mr.  Slick  ?" 
"No,"  saisi,  "never." 

"Oh !  well,  you  can't  form  no  notion  of  the  fisheries,  all  the  way 
up  along  that  shore.  Nothin'  but  seein'  could  give  you  any  idea  of 
the  salmon,  the  cod,  the  mackerel,  and  the  herriu'.  My  eyes !  what 
millions  upon  millions  of  herrin's  there  are  there,  when  the  spring 
opens." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Captin,  "it  defies  the  power  of  language  almost 

to  convey  an  idea  of  them.     They  remain  durin'  the  winter  up  iu 

those  icy  regions,  and  when  the  weather  moderates  they  take  a  tout 

south,  as  far  as  Carolina.    The  drove  or  herd  gives  them  their  name, 

for  Hcer  signifies  an  army.     As  soon  as  they  start,  you  can  trace 

them  by  the  grampus,  the  whale,  the  shark,  black  backs,  dog-fish, 

and  porpoises,  that  follow  in  hot  pursuit,  while  sea-fowl  of  all  kinds 

hover  over  them,  and  charge  on  them  continually.    This  keeps  them 

in  a  compact  body  for  safety;  for  how  it  is  I  can't  say,  but  a  whale 

never  was  known  to  ventur'  into  the  main  army,  though  he  will  cut 

off  detachments,  and  takes  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  them  down  at 

a  gulp.     Their  numbers  positively  alter  the  appearance  of  the  water 

sometimes,  which  actilly  sparkles  with  different  colours,  as  the  rays 

of  the  sun  are  reflected  by  their  scales  and  fins.     If  I  was  to  tell 

you  in  miles  how  long  and  l)road  this  host  is,  you  could  scarcely 

credit  it.     After  a  while  they  divide  into  smaller  armies,  and  seek 

their  own  haunts,  and  the  quality  varies  accordin'  to  the  food.     Thii 

Bay  nf  Fundy  detachment  is  of  splendid  quality.   They  are  smoked, 

w  you  know,  nnd  sold  in  small  boxes." 


'■  it  1 


* 


224 


AN    EXTENSIVE     PLAN     OF    REFORM 


'^  Know,"  sais  I,  "  to  be  sure  1  do.  Why  there  aint  uoihin'  like 
a  'Digby  chicken/  hardly  anywhere.  Further  up  the  bay  they  are 
still  fatter,  but  they  don't  know  how  to  cure  theni  as  the  Digby  boyg 
do." 

*'  What  they  feed  on,"  said  Cutler,  "  I  never  could  discover,  for  I 
have  'Opened  them  again  and  again,  and  never  could  perceive  either 
animal  or  vegetable  matter  in  them.  And  yet  I  know,  for  I  have 
tried  them,  they  will  actually  rise  sometimes  'o  a  fly.  Blowhard 
Bays  it's  a  sea-flea,  and  spawn-like  substance,  that  the  eye  can't  dis- 
cover in  water  without  a  magnifier,  that  they  subsist  on.  But  oh ! 
Mr.  Slick,  the  Bay  of  Fundy  shad,  aint  they  a  glorious  fish  !  They 
are  superior  to  what  they  have  on  the  Atlantic  shore,  either  here  or 
in  the  States." 

"  I  guess  they  be,"  said  I,  "and  far  before  those  of  the  Severn  to 
England,  they  brag  so  much  of.  -  To  my  mind,  they  are  preferable 
to  salmon,  only  the  everlastin'  little  bones  are  so  tormeutiu',  aint 
they?  Lord,  I  never  shall  forget  a  grand  party  I  was  at  to  Canada 
once,  in  the  shad  season.  The  ball-room  was  got  up  in  a  hurry,  and 
the  plaister  warn't  quite  dry;  the  cvenin'  was  hot  and  the  winders 
were  open,  and  in  come  a  cloud  of  shad-flics  from  the  St.  Lawrence, 
that  the  Lord  always  sends  before  them  to  feed  on.  They  stuck  to 
the  walls,  and  filled  the  ladies'  dresses,  choked  the  lights  out,  and 
then  went  down  your  nose  and  mouth  by  the  hundreds.  If  it  warn't 
fun,  it's  a  pity.  When  we  went  in  to  supper,  the  floor  of  the  dancin'- 
room  looked  like  a  battle-field,  strewn  with  the  dead,  wounded,  and 
dying. 

"  Oh !  in  the  way  of  nateral  wealth  and  actual  poverty.  Nova 
Scotia  beats  all  natur'.  The  land  is  chock  full  of  coal,  iron,  copper, 
freestone,  asphalte,  slate,  gypsum,  grindstones,  and  the  Lord  knows 
what.  And  the  coast  chock  full  of  harbours,  and  tho  waters  chock 
full  of  fish.  I  say,  Cutler,  if  we  only  had  it,  lick  !  wouldn't  we 
make  a  great  country  of  it,  that's  all.  But  here  we  are  at  Port 
Jolly." 

"This  is  a  shoal  harbour,  Captain,"  said  the  pilot;  "we  mustn't 
go  any  further  in,  I  guess  we  must  anchor  where  we  be." 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  says  one  of  the  Sable  River  folks  that  came  oflf  in  a 
boat  to  us,  "  we  have  had  a  great  me<^tin'  to-day,  the  largest  I  ever 
saw  on  this  coast." 

"  It  was  the  largest,"  said  I,  "  I  ever  saw  in  my  life." 

"Oh !"  said  he,  "you're  makin'  fun  of  us  poor  folks;  in  course, 
in  the  States  you  have  seen  an  assemblage  twenty  times  as  largo." 

"Never,"  said  I,  "I  give  you  my  honour;  and  what's  more,  it 
was  the  richest  meetin',  too." 

"  Ah !  there  you  are  again,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  don't  see  that 
poverty  is  to  be  laughed  at." 

"  Nor  I  cither,"  said  I;  "  but  T  don't  know  what  you  call  poverty. 


lint  uoihin'  like 
:he  bay  they  are 
!  the  Digby  boys 

,d  discover,  for  I 
I  perceive  either 
know,  for  I  have 
I  fly.  Blowhard 
,he  eye  can't  dis- 
ist  on.  But  oh  I 
rious  fish !  They 
)re,  either  here  or 

3  of  the  Severn  to 
tiey  are  preferable 
1  tormeutiu',  aint 
:  was  at  to  Canada 
Lip  in  a  hurry,  and 
t  and  the  winders 
the  St.  Lawrence, 
in.     They  stuck  to 
he  lights  out,  and 
dreds.    Ifitwarn'^t 
loor  of  the  dancin'- 
lead,  wounded,  and 

:ual  poverty.  Nova 
[  coal,  iron,  copper, 
[d  the  Lord  knows 
Id  the  waters  chock 
lick  I  wouldn't  we 
ire  we  are  at  Port 

)ilot ;  "  we  mustn't 
we  be." 
Is  that  came  off  in  a  , 
1,  the  largest  I  ever 

ly  life." 
lor  folks;  in  course, 
f  times  as  large."  ^ 
Ud  what's  more,  it 

it  I  don't  see  that 

lat  you  call  poverty. 


AN     EXTENSIVE    PLAN     OP     REFORM. 


22& 


I  should  say  that  meetin'  was  worth,  all  told,  two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  pounds." 

"I  didn't  mean  no  offence,  Sii,"  said  lu-,  "and  I  don't  like  to  bo 
rigged  that  way.     Will  you  just  tell  me  what  you  arc  at?" 

"  Yes,"  sais  I,  "  I  will.  You  said  you  had  a  great  meetin'  to-day. 
Of  course,  at  this  busy  season  of  the  year,  I  thought  you  was  talkin' 
of  the  mackerel  shoal,  which  was  the  largest  meetin'  of  them  I  ever 
saw.  It  was  a  mile  and  a  half  long,  and  more  than  half  a  mile 
wide,  if  it  was  an  inch ;  and  it's  time  you  did  meet  and  consart 
measures  for  catchin'  of  them." 

"Well,"  said  the  man,  half  ashamed  of  himself,  "perhaps  it 
would  have  been  as  well  if  we  had  adjourned  the  meetin'  to  a  more 
convenient  time;  but  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  the  fish  have  struck 


ID,  in  such  numbers. 


"  Yes,"  sais  I,  "it  will  be  a  grand  time  for  the  gulls  and  porpoises, 
for  I  suppose  uothin'  else  will  disturb  the  fish  amost,  for  spring  work 
is  come  on,  and  the  ground  must  be  tilled,  and  public  meetiu's  are 
3ome  on,  and  representatives  must  be  chose;  and  then  the  roads  are 
to  be  repaired,  and  it's  the  only  chance  you  have  of  airnin'  a  little 
ready  money.  You  needn't  hurry  though,"  sais  I  "for  you  know 
there  is  a  fall  run  of  fish  as  well  as  a  spring  one,  and  the  fall  fish,  in 
a  gineral  way,  are  the  best." 

"  You're  severe  on  us,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  don't  know  but  what  wo 
desarve  it  too." 

"Come  and  sit  down  then,"  sais  I,  "along  with  me,  and  I'll  tell 
you  a  story,  and  comment  on  it  as  I  go." 

"  Exactly,"  sais  he,  "  what  they  call  expound." 
"  The  very  thing,"  sais  I.     "  It's  a  way  of  talkin'  I  like  amazinly. 
The  last  time  I  was  to  Windsor,  Nova  Scotia,  I  met  Peter  Ham,  an 
inmate  of  the  poor-house,  whom   I  saw  crawUn'  along  on  the  ferry 
hill  there,  into  the  village. 

"  'I  wish  I  was  Governor  of  Nova  Scotia  for  one  day.  Sir,'  saia 
Peter;  'just  for  one  day  only,  an<i  that's  all.' 

"  Even  Peter  was  a  reformer,  and  perhaps  knew  as  much  of  the 
subject  as  most  folks  do,  for  it  aint  every  chanye  that's  a  reform, 
Oiaf  is  a  fact,  and  reforms  aint  ahcays  imptovements.  The  fact  is, 
'reform'  is  a  cant  word.  There  is  cant  in  politics  as  well  as  in  reli- 
gion, and  hypocrites  of  either  kind  are  rascals.  A  (jood  man  don't 
talk  of  his  religion  for  everlastingly,  and  a  good,  subject  ftids  he 
has  as  much  liberty  as  is  good  for  him  or  his  neighbours.  Piety 
aint  found  in  jwt-hoiises,  nor  patriotism  in  fnohs  or  mass-meet  ins. 
Don't  trade  loith  a  man.  that  is  over  sanctimonious,  or  you  xcill  be 
talcen  in  ;  or  be  too  thick  u:ifh  a  demagoguCy  or  you  may  be  taken 
up.  Permentation  throws  up  scum,  and  agitation  brings  rascality  to 
the  top  of  the  pot.  For  my  part,  I  hate  politics.  There  are  cleauei 
ti»ings  to  handle,  and  plcasanter  to  smell. 


w 


I  I 


♦J2G 


AN  EXTENSIVE  PLAN  OP  REFORM. 


"  Thoro  arc  two  kinds  of  rcfonn  in  the  world  —  personal  retbring, 
nnd  reforms  in  the  State.  Now,  personal  reforms  can  be  made  at 
any  time  we  like,  so  we  just  put  tliem  oif  until  it  is  convenient;  and 
sometimes  we  consait  we  can  do  without  them  at  all.  At  all  events, 
it's  like  takiii'  physic;  it's  hard  to  swallor,  and  causes  wry  faces, 
lleforms  in  the  State  are  pretty  things,  and  show  wisdom.  T  never 
met  a  man  yet  that  hadn't,  like  I'ftor,  some  little  pet  scheme  of 
reform  for  the  public.  The  most  disinterested  one,  too,  in  the  world 
-—for  statesmen  arc  very  disinterested  cattle. 

"  Lord  John  had  a  Reform  Bill ;  it  lowered  the  house,  but  it 
raised  him,  for  it  created  the  liberal  party;  but  that  was  an  accident, 
of  course.  The  Brummigitj'  patriots  arc  all  for  free  trade,  a  thing 
in  England  that  must  be  cheap,  for  it  stands  on  one  leg,  and  has  no 
reciprocity.  It  will  lower  real  estate,  but  who  cares  ?  It's  the 
farmer's  look  out,  that.  But  it  will  lower  wages,  and  enable  the 
employers  to  sell  more,  because  they  can  sell  cheaper.  That  was  an 
accident  again,  of  course;  it  was  quite  unexpected,  too,  by  them; 
and  hemles,  Australian  (/old  will  stave  off  the  discovert/  of  that 
mistake  for  a  while.  The  great  thing  is  to  get  the  right  meanin'  of 
tarms.  Liheralitt/  in  relifjion  now  consists  in  ahusin'  your  own 
church,  and  praisiii'  every  other  sect. 

"  A  man  that  does  this  is  certain  to  go  to  Parliament,  for  he  is 
sure  of  the  votes  of  all  the  black,  white,  grey,  and  speckled  birds; 
but  then  a  seat  was  an  onexpected  honour;  he  never  dreamed  of  it; 
he  didn't  want  to  go,  but  he  could  not  refuse  so  large  a  constitu- 
ency's request.  Liberality  in  politics  means  talk  as  loud  as  you  can 
bawl,  and  as  long  as  you  can  stand,  on  the  five  points  of  the  people's 
charter ;  and  then  there  is  political  consistency,  which  means  ham- 
meriu'  away  for  everlastinly  at  one  thing,  right  or  wrong.  Public 
burdens  is  a  good  subject  to  be  consistent  on.  There  must  be  an 
array,  and  a  navy,  and  government  estimates  must  pass,  so  opposin' 
'em  does  no  harm,  and  is  amazin'  popular,  tho'  a  man  don't  know  it. 
Hume  has  rode  that  hobby  for  thirty  years,  and  it  will  carry  him  as 
long  as  he  lives;  and  lately  it  has  been  found  strong  enough  to  let 
Cobden  jump  up  1  ^hind  him,  and  take  a  canter  too. 

"  '  I  say,  old  boy,'  said  Cobden  to  him,  as  he  sprung  up  on  the 
crupper,  and  clasped  the  veberan  round  the  ribs ;  '  I  say,  old  boy, 
this  is  an  amazin'  easy  steed  to  ride,  aint  it?' 

a  (  Very,'  said  Hume. 

"  '  Is  he  safe  ?' 

"  '  Safest  hack  in  the  kingdom  ;  and  I'll  tell  you  what  is  a  better 
recommendation.' 

''  '  What's  that  ?' 

"  'AVhy  it  costs  nothin'  to  feed  or  keep  him;'  and  they  roared 
and  laughed  so,  they  came  plaguey  near  tumbliu'  oflf.  both  on  'em, 
safe  as  the  hobby  was. 


AN  EXTENSIVE  PLAN  OF  REFORM. 


21- 


"  It's  a  great  tliinjr  for  a  nation  to  have  such  patriots.  Thore 
ought  to  bo  an  institution  at  ^lanchostcr  to  manufacturo  ready-niado 
politicians  urter  the  i^uino  pattern — a  coarse,  cheap  article  for  expor- 
tation to  the  continent,  or  the  colonies.  I  make  no  doubt  they  could 
bo  aflbrded  l(;w,  if  there  was  only  a  demand  for  them. 

''  15ut  I  sot  to  work  to  tell  you  a  story  that  I  picked  up  durin'  my 
last  visit  to  Nova  Scotia,  and  the  reflections  on  it  —  like  old  addition 
and  substraction's  hobby — carried  me  r»ff,  and  ran  away  with  mej  so 
tiuit  now  the  story  has  more  hair  than  head. 

"  'I  wish  I  was  governor  for  Nova  Scotia,'  said  Peter,  'just  for 
oue  day.' 

<' '  Sit  down  here  now,  Peter,  and  tell  me  what  you  would  do  if 
you  was  governor.' 

'•  '  Yes,  but  if  I  sit  down/  said  Peter,  '  I  can't  get  up  again 
without  help.' 

"  Poor  fellow,  he  was  nearly  bent  double  with  rheumatism,  tho 
jints  of  his  legs  were  all  but  ossi'fied,  and  refused  to  obey  his  orders; 
and  he  had  to  toil  most  laboriously  with  crutches,  and  advanced 
slov/ly  on  his  road,  and  but  a  few  inches  at  a  time. 

"  '  I'll  uiake  a  seat  for  you,  Peter,'  and  I  placed  a  pole  in  the  angle 
of  the  rail-fence,  so  that  he  could  rest  himself  while  he  developed  to 
me  his  grand  scheme  of  reform  for  the  benefit  of  the  country. 

"  *  You  see,'  said  Peter,  '  this  is  a  dreadful  steep  hill,  Sir  —  right 
between  the  poor-honse  and  the  town ;  and  it  takes  me  nearly  all 
day  to  get  there  and  back  agin,  for  it's  the  matter  of  a  mile  each 
way.  You  haven'  got  a  piece  of  tobacky,  have  you,  Sir,  you  could 
give  me?  Thank  you  kiudly,  Sir;  I  always  cousait  it  does  me 
good ;  and  that's  grand,  only  perhaps  it's  a  little  grain  too  mild.' 
"  '  But  the  hill,  Peter  ?' 

"'Oh  !  yes,  Sir;  it's  a  cruel  hill,  that.     I  wish  I  was  governor 
of  Nova  Scotia  just  for  one  day.' 
"  '  What  wonld  you  do,  Peter?' 

" '  Why  I'd  move  the  poor-house  into  the  town,  and  then  a  rheu- 
matized,  lame  old  fellow  like  me,  could  get  his  glass  of  grog  without 
toil  in'  all  day  for  it.' 

" '  Peter,'  said  I,  '  you  are  a  sensible  man ;  I  wish  you  were  go- 
vernor, with  all  my  heart ;  few  governors  would  be  so  reasonable. 
Here's  some  money  to  pay  for  the  grog.'  " 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  said  IJluenose,  "  that  is  a  very  good  story,  and  I 
shall  not  forget  it;-  there's  a  good  moral  in  it." 

"  There  is,"  said  I,  "  and  I  will  tell  you  what  the  moral  is.  It 
shows  you  hpw  great  the  folly  and  vanity  of  statesmen  is  —  what  a 
diversity  of  wishes  all  mankind  have,  and  what  a  personal  application 
almost  every  man  makes  of  politics  to  his  own  individual  benefit  and 
advantage.  It  shows,  too,  how  little  we  really  do  want  of  legisla- 
tion, and  how  small  a  portion  of  our  welfare  and  comfort  is  dependent 


( 


228 


AN     EXTENSIVE    PLAN     OF    REPORxi!. 


on  governors  or  assemblies.*  The  States,  to  my  certain  knowledge, 
have  been  totally  and  entirely  ruinated  several  times  in  my  memory, 
and  yet  thin<!js  went  on  much  the  same  after  each  ruination,  and  tho 
country  is  still  loft,  and  so  is  the  constitution,  and  the  people  arc  still 
thrivin'  and  prosperous.  ]*ctor  Ham  knesv  what  he  did  want,  and 
that's  more  than  most  people  do;  for  half  the  time  when  folks  get 
their  own  way,  they  aiut  satisfied.  I'll  tell  you  another  story  to 
illustrate  that. 

''  In  course  you've  heard  tell  of  Van  Buren ;  you  know  ho  waa 
made  President  of  our  almighty  republic.  Well,  the  Irish  all  went 
in  up  to  the  handle  for  him,  for  in  a  general  way  they  all  go  one 
way,  which  gives  them  great  influence  at  elections.  When  it  was 
ovei',  says  Peter  IMulkahy  one  day  (at  New  York)  to  another  Irish- 
man, one  Paddy  Blake. 

"  'Paddy,'  sais  he,  'we've  gained  the  day,  and  got  our  man  in; 
Van  Buren  is  President.  Hurrah  for  ould  Ireland !  we're  the  boys 
that  did  it.' 

"  '  In  is  it  he  is  !'  sais  Pat;  '  the  devil  he  is  !  then  I'm  agin  him 
now,  for  I'm  agin  all  governments.' 

"Ilulio!"  sais  I,  "what  in  natur'  is  all  that  cheerin'  ashore 
there?" 

"  Why,  sais  Blucnose,  "  our  party  has  got  the  victory,  and  our 
nomination  has  succeeded.     We've  carried  the  day." 

"Well,  that's  u  great  matter,"  sais  I,  "aiut  it?  You'll  have 
better  times  now  to  Nova  Scotia,  won't  you  ?" 

"  Well,"  sais  he,  (and  he  did  look  ashamed,  that's  a  factj)  "  I 
won't  say,  as  the  Irishman  did,  that  I'm  agin  him  ;  but  I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do  —  from  this  day  out  I'm  agin  all  politics,  and  that's  a 
fact." 

"That's  right,"  sais  I,  "give  me  j'our  hand;  stand  up  to  your 
lick -log  like  a  man,  be  they  consarvativcs  or  liherah,  for  they  arc  all 
tarred  with  the  same  stick.  They  differ  in  name  like  maize  and 
corn,  but  it's  the  identical  same  (/rain.  If  you  don't  find  yourself 
better  oif  in  the  long  run,  my  name  aint  Sara  Slick,  that's  all. 
Liberty  is  a  very  good  thing  for  slaves  to  work  out,  but  free  mea 
should  find  somethin'  else  to  talk  about.  Talk  never  put  a  crop  in 
the  ground,  and  if  that  aint  tilled,  thistles  and  weeds  supply  its  plac«. 
The  icaycs  of  idleness  is  'poverty.      To  find  hidden  <jold  is  to  find 

*  "AViiy  have  I  straj'ed  from  pleasure  and  repose, 
To  seek  a  good  each  government  bestows  ? 

*  »  *  *  *  • 

«  »  *  »  * 

iiow  small,  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure, 
That  part  which  laws  or  kings  can  cause  or  cure." 

GoLUSiMrru'.s  Tkavellbb. 


OOOSE    VAN     DAM. 


229 


trmj)t(ition  and  siuyhut  that  that's  eai'^ned  has  no  alloy  in  it.  These 
urc  natoral  trutlis,  Mr.  Bluenosc,  put  them  into  your  pipe  and  smoke 
them  on  your  way  hotiie  to  Sable  Ilivcr,  and  see  how  you  like  the 
tiavour  of  them." 


CHAPTKR    XXIII. 


GOOJJE    VAN    DAM. 


icerin    asuore 


Teavellhs. 


WilETiiKR  I  really  wa.s  unwell  when  I  left  home,  or  only  con- 
saited  I  was,  as  1  said  before,  I  do  not  know;  but  it  is  certain  that 
these  short  sea-trijw,  change  of  air  and  scene,  and  the  excitement  of 
nieetiu'  old  fricJids  agin,  has  dojie  nic  a  great  deal  of  sarvice.  Down 
to  Lunenburg,  tiie  Dutch  people  use  ox-carts,  and  always  travel  in 
one  track,  and  it  cuts  up  the  road  so  that  the  ruts  are  hob-deep 
aniost. 

The  dull  straight-forrard  course  in  life,  without  varyin'  the  track, 
furrows  the  mud  up  the  saiue  way.  We  must  leave  the  highway 
Bonietimcs  and  take  to  the  bye-roads,  or  lanes,  or  forest-paths.  The 
air  is  different,  the  scenery  (jevarsifled,  the  parfume  of  the  firs  and 
pines  smell  fragrant,  and  the  birds  sing  more  at  their  ease.  The 
quiet  of  the  country  calms  the  nervous  system,  gives  us  somethin' 
new  to  think  of,  as  well  as  to  sec,  and  the  population  is  different,  and 
so  is  their  parsuits.  Gunnin'  is  exeitin',  and  leads  to  exercise,  and 
so  does  fishin' ;  and  huntin'  gives  a  grand  appetite,  and  puts  a  feller 
in  first  rate  condition.  Well  then,  talk  to  new  people  is  pleasant; 
you  get  new  ideas  from  them,  and  it  brings  out  new  ones  from  you. 

I  have  larnt  a  (jood  deal  from  mij  ovni  talk.  Often  when  I  have 
been  advisin'  a  man,  or  funniu'  of  him,  new  reasons  or  new  illustra- 
tions have  sprung  up  of  their  own  accord,  that  I  never  thought  of 
before.  It  has  made  my  opinions  stronger,  or  given  me  cause  to 
change  them  in  some  particulars.  I  am  not  certain  whether  a  man, 
if  be  could  be  sure  not  to  be  overheard,  was  to  think  aloud,  but  what 
it  would  be  beneficial  to  him.  It  would  take  off  the  dreaminess  of 
thinkin'  and  its  castle-buildin',  and  give  reality  to  his  reasons,  and 
life  to  his  humour.  Miisin's  aint  j^^'ojitable  in  a  gineral  wai/,  for 
they  are  like  the  dews  of  night  —  early  sunrise  dries  them  right  up. 
Saj/iii  is  doi)x\  Musin'  is  dreamiii\  What  we  say,  we  remem- 
ber; what  wc  dream,  can't  be  wrote  down  and  sworn  to,  that's  a 
fact. 

^Vell,  arter  one  of  these  summer-runs  at  grass,  we  return  to  the 
business  (jf  life  new  men,  and  we  are  better  able  to  work,  and  like 
it  better  for  the  change  agin. 

20 


11 


3-5* 


! 


f 


m 


230 


0  0  0  8  E     VOX     DAM. 


Dr.  Sobicski,  a  surgeon  to  Slickville,  who  was  a  Pole  —  T  don't 
mean  a  poor  stick,  hut  a  German  Pohinder — u  very  ch.'ver  man,  only 
he  warn't  very  easy  to  understand,  for  he  had  f'trgot  Jiis  own  laiw 
guage,  and  hadn't  larned  English  right.  The  bi^y.s  used  to  euU  him 
"Old  'rellmidgorV  because  when  they  tcazed  hinj,  he  always  pro- 
nounced those  four  words  in  one — "To  h — 11  with  you!"  Home- 
times  they  used  to  call  him  "  Old  Soher-isky,"  fur  he  was  an  awful 
fellow  to  drink.  When  folks  talked  to  him  about  bein'  such  a 
toper,  "  Ah  1"  he  used  to  say,  "  my  poctr  country  is  robbed  and 
plundered  so,  we  have  an  old  sayin',  '  Only  what  I  drink  is  mine,' 
and  I  likes  to  own  as  much  as  1  can."  Well,  "  Old  Tellmidger" 
was  the  first  to  open  ujy  eyes  to  the  value  of  ehiiiige  of  air. 

"You  can't  see  the  air,"  said  he,  "Mr.  Slick;  and  if  you  want 
to  analyze  it,  you  can't  catch  it  —  what  you  call  nab  him." 

"  It  can  catch  you  tho,"  sais  I,  "  when  it's  twenty  below  zero,  and 
shave  you  in  no  time,  quick  as  wink."     Oh,  how  he  used  to  hate  a 
joke!  for  he  didn't  clearly  onderstand  it,  and  it  used  to  put  him 
out  in  his  gibberish,      lie  hud  great  s{)ikes  of  teeth,  fit  to  nail  dowD 
a  two-inch  plank  amost,  and  he'd  show  them  as  spiteful  as  a  bull-dog, 
and  give  'em  a  grit,  ;is  if  lie  was  a  filin'  of  'em,  and  say  : 
"  What  for  teyvil  you  do  dat  — Tellmidger  1" 
"  Well,  go  on,  Dr.  Sober-isky,"  I'd  say. 
"Well,  you  can't  see  the  air,  nnr  analyze  it,  nor  taste  it." 
"You  can  smell  it  tho'  sometimes,"   I'd  say.     And  then  he'd 
stop,  stamp  on  the  ground,  and  grit  again  awful  mad.     But  I'd  say, 
"I  beg  pardon;   1  W(m't  interrui)t  you  .iguin.  Dr.  Sober-esky.    Praj 
go  on." 

"Tellmidger  Sober-csky  !  he'd  say. 

Well,  if  you  was  to  iuterrui't  him  a  thousand  times,  he'd  alway» 
begin  at  tho  begiunin'  agin,  if  he  had  to  go  a  hundred  yards  back. 

"  You  can't  see  de  air,  or  analyze  it,  or  taste  it;  all  you  know  is, 
it  is  what  you  call  mystery,  I'ljnotd,  wonder,  von  grand  puzzle.  You 
can't  expliiin  de  modus  opcniudi'  (for  he  could  talk  Latin  as  easj/ 
as  he  could  drink);  ''  but  you  watch  it,  an'  see  the  cfiFects,  and  leave 
the  causes  to  be  explorated  hereafter.  Now  you  will  send  your 
child'"  (I  was  agoiu'  to  say  I  hadn't  got  none,  but  I  knew  how  mad 
it  would  make  him  ;  so  1  let  him  go  on.)  "  You  will  send  your 
child  into  de  next  street,  that  has  got  hoopin'-cough  so  bad,  it  coughs 
its  boots  upamost,  and  he  will  get  well  straightw'ay — de  air  is  changed. 
What  make  change  of  air  in  two  street  joinin'  uu  to  each  oder,  both 
on  de  same  hill,  and  same  level,  and  de  same  wind  blow  over  both, 
we  cannot  say.  De  fact  is  sartain;  de  cause  unknown.  To  be 
healthy,  you  must  change  air,  change  diet,  and  change  drink." 

"Aye,"  said  1,  "and  change  doctors  too."  He  fixed  his  eyes  on 
«tte,  and  glared  like  a  tiger;  but  before  he  got  out  that  ugly  word 
wi  his,  "  i^ou  are  perfectly  right.  Doctor,"  sais  I;  "there  is  great 


W:      !    i 


OOOSE    VAN    DAM 


231 


IS  mine, 


mith  in  wliat  you  say.  You  are  a  close  observer,"  and  poor  Old 
Soberosky  was  right.  Onct  when  I  was  to  Witulsor,  I  had  a  dread- 
ful cold  in  my  head ;  I  eouhl  hardly  see  out  of  my  eyes,  and  my 
two  nostrils  felt  as  largo  and  as'  ugly  as  two  broken  panes  of  glass 
in  a  winder  stopped  up  with  old  hats.  I  fairly  ft'lt  no  how  all  over. 
Well,  I  just  happened  to  think  of  ''Old  Telhnidger's  Theory  of 
Change  of  Air,"  ordered  Old  Clay  into  the  waggon,  streaked  it  off 
over  the  mountain,  and  up  to  Kentvillc  in  no  time;  and  the  next 
nioruin'  felt  like  a  new  man.  Change  of  air  has  operatod  like  a 
charm  on  me  this  time.  I  sartainly  feel  as  I  used  to  did,  when  I 
kept  travellin'  over  Nova  Scotia  all  the  time.  I  actilly  consnit  I  am 
better  lookin'  too,  than  I  was.  I  never  looked  in  my  glass  so  often 
as  I  have  since  I  left  Sophy  j  but  I  railly  do  kinder  think  it  has 
improved  my  daguertype,  jist  enough,  perhaps,  to  be  takin'.  A 
sickly  face  is  repulsive,  a  delicate  one  is  interostin'.  I  wish  I  had 
left  somethin'  behind  mo  at  CoUingwood's,  besides  my  heart,  for  an 
excuse  to  go  back  for  it.  There  would  bo  plenty  of  time,  while  the 
vessel  is  at  Port  Midway,  wouldn't  there  ?  or  1  could  overtake  hei 
at  Petite  llivierc.     Is  there  anythin'  I  could  invent? 

*'  By  your  leave,  ]Mr.  Slick,"  said  the  pilot,  '•  I  want  to  let  go  tho 
mainsail,  for  we  are  forgin'  too  far  ahead  rather."  (I  guess  /  am, 
thinks  I  to  myself.)  "  Let  go  the  anchor.  If  we  make  as  good  a 
trade  here  as  we  did  at  Port  Jolly,  wo  shall  do  a  considerable  busi- 
ness, I  guess.  It's  a  pity  we  couldn't  have  stopped  at  Liverpool 
though  too,  for  there  are  more  folks  there ;  but  they  have  a  custom- 
house, and  it  wouldn't  be  safe  to  venture  ther»;j  and  besides,  coun- 
try harbours,  for  our  trade,  is  better  than  towns.  There,  the  people 
have  to  go  to  the  marchantj  here,  we  carry  the  stdre  to  them.  It 
makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world  that.  Ah  !  here  come  the 
boats  off.  Well,  then,  I  guess  I'll  go  ashore  and  see  my  old  friend, 
Goose  Van  Dam.  lie  lives  in  the  white  house  on  the  hill.  If  I 
am  wanted,  you  can  send  for  me." 

Speakin'  of  Van  Dam  reminds  me  of  what  I  have  said  afore  in 
my  journal,  that  I  don't  believe  there  is  a  man  or  woman  in  the 
world  hardly  but  what  has  some  peg  or  another  for  pride  to  hang  hia 
hat  on.  Even  in  the  States,  folks  cock  up  their  chins,  and  talk  of 
great  folks  to  England  they  are  connected  with.  All  the  raol  heirs 
of  all  the  grand  titles  in  the  kingdom  are  to  be  found  in  the  great 
cities  there.  There  is  many  a  duke  with  his  arn)s  in  a  homespun 
coat,  his  coat  of  arms  in  a  book,  and  only  wants  the  means  to  get 
justice  done  and  have  his  title.  Father  always  said  he  was  the  rail 
undoubted  Prince  Schlick,  and  sister  Sail  will  believe  to  her  dyin' 

"  im  the  rail  Simon  Pure.    Well, 


■=^y 


gone 


ii's  a  cheap  bit  of  pride,  and  costs  nothiu'  but  a  stretch  of  fancy^; 
and  when  folks  say  what  they  actilly  believe,  why  there  can't  bo 
much  of  an  ontruth  in  it. 


m 


nOTap 


U-    ' 


F*  '^' 


K:      Is 
If 


& 


t]  I 


il 


1  ^^1 
'4  m 


232 


GOOSE    VAN    DAM, 


But  pride  has  always  a  sore  '^pot  sonio where,  that  the  more  yoa 
cover  it,  the  rodder  it  h)C)ks,  and  the  tenderer  it  fi;et.s.  Sally  is  ter- 
rihly  seared  to  hear  of  a  wooden  eloek,  and  not  Inn'  makes  her  so 
mad  as  for  f(»lks  to  eall  mo  "  Sani  Slick,  tlu^  (MockmakcT."  Sh(>  sais 
it's  very  rude  to  i-all  a  gentleman  Sam,  for  sliortness;  they  might 
as  well  say  Sambo  at  oneet.  And  when  she  writes  to  me,  she 
always  addresses  the  letter  to  the  '*  Honourable  Samuel  Sliek,  late 
of  the  Embassy  to  the  Court  of  St.  James's,  but  now  at  Halifax, 
Nova  Seotia;"  and  ])uts  in  the  eorner,  "eare  of  the  United  Slates' 
Consul."  Poor  thing  !  it  pleases  hv>r  for  the  postmaster  to  Sliekvillo 
to  see  such  a  letter.  She  says,  she  likes  to  let  some  folks  know 
who  some  folks  are,  and  tosses  up  her  pretty  little  mug,  when  she 
Lands  in  the  letter,  with  an  air  as  much  as  to  say,  "  that's  my  brother 
with  that*  handle  as  long  as  a  corn  broom  to  his  name." 

I  do  railly  believo  that  if  o...c  of  them  young  chaps  in  the  con;- 
missariat  that  sarves  out  soap,  coals  and  candles  to  Halifax  w;is  to  go 
to  Onion  county,  he'd  marry  the  richest  gall  in  it,  for  his  fitle  beats 
all  natur',  con^iderin'  his  rank,  which  is  oidy  one  notch  above  a 
clerk,  and  his  pay,  which  don't  alliird  new  clothes  till  they're  want- 
ed— deputy-assistant-cominissary-general !  Oh  !  Sally,  if  1  had  such 
a  handle  as  that,  it  would  upset  such  a  litth^  word  as  Slick  tiflor  it 
right  off.  It  couldn't  stand  straight  and  hold  it  up.  Thinkin'  of 
young  commissaries,  ri^'.^i'ids  me  agin  of  what  I  oucet  heard  of  two 
old  coves,  heads  of  that  department,  for  there  is  an  ollicial  pride, 
and  a  pride  of  doin'  things  by  rule. 

When  I  was  to  Cibraltar,  there  was  an  old  commissary-general 
who  was  on  his  list  legs,  for  the  king's  stores  never  sarve  out  new 
ones,  and  he  had  to  set  about  his  last  accounts,  pretty  hard  accounts 
too  to  pass  sometimes,  showin'  a  balance  giuerally  agin  a  man  in  the 
long  run,  notwithstandin'  all  the  credits  ho  can  set  down.  Well, 
you  can't  put  them  old  coons  out  of  their  way, 'do  what  you  will. 
Things  must  be  done  jist  so,  have  jist  so  many  black  lines,  und  red 
lines,  and  columns,  and  headings,  and  totals,  and  countersigns. 
"Well,  this  old  man  when  he  was  all  done,  sent  for  the  governor  to 
Bce  him,  and  take  leave  of  him. 

"Governor,"  said  he,  "1  am  a  very  fortunate  man." 

"  How  so'/''  said  the  General.    *'  1  am  delighted  to  hear  it.    How 

KO?" 

"I  have  had  a  bishop  with  me  in  my  last  illness.  It's  a  great 
oomfort  to  treat  with  heads  of  departments,  aiut  't?" 

"  You  are  sure  all's  right  then  V 

"  No — mis — mis — take — in — the — vou — vou — vouchers,"  and  bo 
opened  his  eyes  and  mouth  wide,  and  kicked  the  bucket  right  off. 

I  jcarJ  the  Governor  tell  that  story  himself  one  day,  when  he 
lunched  on  board  of  old  Ironsides,  as  we  call  the  'Constitution* 
frigate.     He  enjoyed  it  very  nmeh,  and  said  he  knew  another  just 


O  O  0  H  E    VAN     DAM 


238 


exactly  like  it.  Tlio  chapliiln  callod  on  oiio  of  these  issucr-gencrali 
of  good  tilings,  who  was  travoUin'  (he  last  road,  faster  than  he 
kuowed  of  hinisolf,  and  advised  him  to  prepare  for  a  gin(!ral  give  out 
of  tiie  ni"ehin(!ry.  llo  saiil  ho  hoped  he  would  excuse  him,  but  ho 
really  felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to  talk  seriously  to  liim. 

"  Well,  Sir,"  said  he,  "1  will  excuse  you  upon  this  one  occasion, 
as  I  have  no  doubt  you  mean  well,  atid  are  unac(iuaintcd  with  official 
etiquette,  altho'  your  ignorance  greatly  surprises  mc.  You  can  hold 
yourself  in  readiness,  Hir,  when  required.  Tn  the  meantiuio  you 
must  know  that  my  medical  man  has  not  reported  to  me  that  I  am 
in  danger  :  when  he  do(!s,  Sir,  it  will  bo  time  enough  to  hear  what 
yon  have  to  say.     (jiood  mornin*.  Sir,  I  won't  detain  you." 

While  these  things  were  passin'  in  my  mind,  1  reached  Van  Dam's 
liouse. 

'Ms  Goose  to  hum?"  said  I,  addressin'  myself  to  his  handsome 
young  wife. 

"  J'ray,  Sir,  who  do  you  call  Uoosc?"  said  she,  slightly  colourin', 
and  bridlin'  up  a,  considerable  sum. 

"  Why,  Goose  Van  Dam,  to  bo  sure,"  sais  T.  "  Who  else  should 
I  call  by  that;  are  eveilastin'  handsome  name  ?" 

"  You  are  very  free  and  easy.  Sir,"  said  she. 

"It's  a  way  1  have  among  friends,"  sais  I,  sittin'  down  coolly  in 
a  chair. 

"You  had  better  keep  it  then,"  she  replied,  "till  you  are  among 
'em.      What  might  your  business  be  ?"  said  she,  quite  short. 

"Wcll^  don't  you  bo  a  goose,  then,  at  any  rati,"'  I  replied,  "and 
fly  off  the  handle  for  nothin*  that  way.  You  was  always  skittish, 
Ki^to.  Do  you  recollect  the  m'ght  you  held  the  lantern  to  me  down 
to  the  Five  IFouSes,  the  time  I  dug  up  the  l^Vonch  captin,  and  got 
his  belt  of  doubloons  off  his  skeliton,  and  you  got  skeerd,  and  dropt 
the  light,  and  left  me  in  the  dark,  in  the  grave  there?  Warnt  that 
a  proper  lark  ?  Lord  how  often  1  have  larfed  over  that,  when  T 
have  thought  of  it  since.  Oh  !  them  was  the  times  for  light  heels 
and  light  hearts." 

"Well,  I  am  a  guose,  that's  a  fact,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  she;  "for  I 
ou-;^ht  to  have  know'd  you  at  once,  liut,  Mr.  Sliok,"  said  sho, 
Thin'  and  tappin'  me  on  the  shoulder,  "  don't  mention  that  arc  story 
to  Van,  that's  a  good  soul;  for  though  he  is  the  best-tempered  man 
agoin',  he  is  of  a  very  jealous  turn,  and  he  mightn't  jist  altogether 
like  it.  No  one  knows  it  but  you  and  me,  and  perhaps  wc  might 
have  been  better  imployod.      IJut  hero  ho  is  himself." 

Goose  was  like  mofjt  of  those  of  Dufch  descent  on  that  coast,  a 
very  large  powerful  man.  lie  was  tall  and  bony,  though  not  stout 
or  corpulent,  aud  stooped  a  little,  which  might  perhaps  be  occasionetj 
by  the  weight  of  his  enormous  lists,  each  of  which  looked  as  heavy 
to  carry  as  a  six-and-tbirty-pound  shpt.  His  countopunce  was  open 
20* 


234 


GO',  SE    V  '•.  N     DAM, 


:m\ 


|H 


■i  ■  ^( 


;■-  I 


;,  ^ 


ri~  fi 


i 


and  jolly,  but  there  was  that  about  his  mouth  that  gave  you  th« 
idea  of  a  man,  who  if  he  got  a  notion  in  his  head  onct,  would  defy 
all  the  world  to  get  it  out.  lie  had  an  awkward  trick,  when  he 
spoke  to  you,  of  tuggin'  at  his  shirt-collar,  in  a  way  that  caused  you 
to  rejoice  he  had  a  coat  and  waistcoat  on,  or  that  garment  would 
have  been  in  danger  of  goin'  over  his  head  at  last.  Ho  had  the  air 
of  a  man  who  was  well  to  do  in  the  world,  and  his  house  and  estab 
lishnient  bespoke  thrift,  order,  and  comfort. 

"  How  are  you,  old  fellow  ?"  sais  I.  "  I  was  jist  a  tellin'  youi 
wife  how  green  she  must  have  been  to  have  married  a  man  with  sucl 
an  all-fired  name  as  Goose." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  tryin'  to  larf,  though  it  went  agin  his  grain, 
'''  she  knew  I  was  no  fool,  if  I  was  a  goose.  But,  Mr.  Slick,  I  hav« 
been  so  bothered  ever  since  I  was  a  boy,  with  that  name,  that  I  have 
had  half  a  mind  to  quit  the  country  and  change  it.  It  was  an  old 
family-name  among  us,  when  wc  lived  at  Albany,  afore  the  revolu- 
tion.    There  has  always  been  a  goose  in  the  family." 

"So  I  should  think,"  sais  I.  But  seein'  I  was  distressin'  the 
flock,  L  added :  "  I  should  like  to  know  what  good  family  in  New 
York  State  there  aint  one  in  ?"  • 

''I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  he.  '' But  confound  it,  it's  enough 
to  drive  a  fuller  mad,  a'niost!  When  T  was  a  youngster,  other  boys 
ca^^-'d  out, 

"  'Goosey,  gooacy  gauder, 
Wliitber  do  you  wander  ?' 

or  they  would  .stand  on  one  leg,  as  if  they  was  a  watrhin*  of  the  nest, 
and  quarke,  and  call  my  little  sisters  'goslins!'  Many  a  time  i 
have  set  them  a  larfin'  the  other  side  of  their  mouths,  I  know.  If 
a  father  and  mother  want  you  to  honour  them  accordin'  to  catechism, 
they  shouldn't  give  a  child  sucn  a  name  as  '  Goose  !'  " 

'^  You  nmstn't  hilk  nonsense,"  sais  I;  "you  might  as  well  drop 
the  'dam'  at  the  end  of  your  name,  cause  it  sounds  profane. 
'  Goose  is  good  Dutch,  and  so  is  '  dam,'  too.  Some  of  our  first  chop 
folks  are  connected  with  that  family.  The  great  Van  Home,  of 
Albany,  was  a  Goose." 

"  Why,  you  don't  say  so  !"  said  he. 

"  But  I  do  say  so,"  sais  I;  "and  it's  generally  allowed  the  King 
of  Iloliand,  that  give  up  his  crown,  was  a  Goose.'' 

"Uoyou  hear  that,  Kate?"  said  the  pacified  man.  "I  always 
told  you  I  came  of  a  good  family,  and  now  I  hope  you  believe  it." 

"Seoin'  is  bclicvin',"  said  she.  "Now  ask  if  dinner  is  ready, 
"Why,  Mr,  Slick,"  said  she,  as  soon  as  ho  was  gone,  "what  a  droll 
man  you  be  !  But  mind  and  keep  dark  about  the  doubloons.  Oh! 
what  a  touss  folks  made  about  diggin'  up  that  Frenchman  !  They 
ajtilly  offered  a  reward  of  fifty  pounds  tt  find  out  who  it  was;  ar;d  I 


li  # 


GOOSF    VAN    DAM 


236 


you  th« 

)uld  defy 
when  he 
msed  you 
ent  would 
ad  the  air 
and  estab 

sllin'  youi 
with  sucl 

his  grain, 
Lck,  I  hav« 
hat  I  havft 
was  an  old 
the  revolu- 

tressin'  the 
ily  in  New 

it's  enough 
,  other  boys 


of  the  nest, 

y  a  time  i 

know.     If 

catechism, 

[is  well  drop 

Ids   profane. 

IV  first  chop 

Home,  of 


3d  the  King 

"  1  always 
Ibelicve  it.' 

jr  is  ready. 

?hat  a  droll 
loons.     Oh ! 


lan 


was;  ar 


They 


dl 


never  changed  the  old  gold  till  last  summer,  when  I  was  in  Boston. 
Do  you  think  there  was  any  harm  in  it  ?" 

"  Well,  1  don't  know,"  sais  T,  "  for  I  never  thought  about  the 
harm;  but  there  is  one  thing  I'll  promise  you — " 
"What's  that?"  said  she. 

"  Why,  if  ever  you  are  a  widder,  I'll  never  dig  up  Goose,  that's  a 
fact.     Mind,  you're  Ibespokc." 

"  Pooh !"  said  she,  larfin',  "  don't  talk  nonsense.     Let's  go  to 
dinner." 

A  good,  plain,  substantial  meal  it  was,  too;  jist  what  it  ought  to 
be,  and  what  it  is,  in  every  substantial  farmer's  house  in  the  country. 
"  Mr.  Slick,"  said  the  good-natured  host,  "  there  was  a  droll  thing 
occurred  the  other  day,  down  to  Five  Houses." 

"  There  have  been  a  good  many  droll  things  happened  there,"  said 
I,  a-winkin  to  his  wife. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  he.     "You  must  tell  me  some  of 

them ;  for  there  is  nothin'  I  like  so  much  as  a  good  story."     Kate 

'^niiled  at  that,  passed  her  hand  over  her  face,  and  managed  to  ler 

:  fore-finger  rest  on  her  lips  as  a  signal.     "  Did  you  know  thr 

Snare  galls  if"  said  he. 

"  A  large  family,  the  Snare  galls !"  said  I,  laughin'. 
"  You  may  say  thatf  Mr.  Slick !"  said  his  wife,  cntcriu'  into  the 
joke  with  spirit. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Goose,  iookiu'  puzzled.  "Well, 
Kitty  Snare  married  Conrad  Shupe.  You  knew  Courade  Shupe; 
he  was  the  son  of  Old  Crouse  Shupe,  that  lived  down  to  Bernardi'3 
Point.  Bernardi  was  an  Italian,  and  used  to  sell  lookin'-glasses  and 
pictures  to  Halifax,  and  then  went  and  settled  to  the  Point." 
"  W^ell,  you  will  never  get  to  the  point,"  said  his  wife. 
"I  shor.ldn't  wonder,"  said  Goose;  "for  it's  worth  two  thousand 
pounds,  :iTji;  uiore  money,  on  account  of  the  sea-weed.  I  have  always 
act  my     ^-v,  i>n  the  Point." 

"  Yc      1  ■;(;'  hold  of  it  some  o'  these  days,"  sais  I. 
"I  cii,;(  \i    fc  wonder,"  said  he;  "for  Lawyer  Lybolt  sais  it  will 
come  to  the  h.'i-.mer  yet." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  ninnyhammer,"  said  she,  roarin'  with  laughter. 
''  Let  me  tell  the  story,  for  it  will  take  you  all  day." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  sais  he;  "for  when  I  gets  to  the  Pcint,  it 
puti-  cverythin'  else  out  of  my  head.  It's  the  great^est  point  on  the 
ccast  for  sea-weed ;  there  is  lashions  of  it,  after  a  southerly  gale. 
The  sheep — " 

"  .  ■.  Slick,"  she  raid,  "there  aint  aiuch  point  in  the  story;  au(^ 
wht.  'i"le  ther,  is,  he  has  taken  ofF." 

"Ail  the  teams  in  the  township  wouldn't  clear  ofi"  that  Point/ 
•le  replied. 
"  Shupe,"  she  went  on  to  say,  "  aint  like  my  husband,  the  best 


iiii 


I 


fi 


i'  'f 


t-s,  i 

la,  . 


236 


aOOSfi    VAN    DAM. 


tempered  man  in  the  world,  but.jist  the  revarse  —  a  great  cross, 
grained,  crabbit,  sour-crout  Dutchman ;  and  he  don't  use  his  wife 
well  at  all.  Ho  makes  her  work  harder  than  any  hired  help,  and 
won't  allow  the  men  folks  to  wait  on  her  at  all." 

"He  wants  to  get  to  tho.  Point,  too,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  Goose, 
"  that's  the  reason  he  saves  all  so  close." 

"  Th-j  other  day.  Van  and  I  went  over  there  to  see  them,"  she 
continued,  "  and  she  asked  us  to  stay  to  dine ;  and  when  dinner  was 
ready,  she  blow  the  conch-shell,  and  up  come  Conrad  and  tho  men 
folks,  and  down  we  sat.  I  thought  I  should  have  died  a  laVfin'  to 
see  his  face,  when  he  had  done  sayin'  an  overly  long  grace,  opened 
his  eyes,  and  looked  down  at  the  table.  There  was  a  raw  fillet  of 
veal,  and  a  raw  codfish,  and  raw  potatoes,  and  corn,  and  peas,  and 
beans,  jist  as  they  came  from  the  garden.  Didn't  he  stare,  that's 
all  ?" 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,'  ^roose. 

•'  Do  be  quiet,"  said  his  ,  ;,  impatiently.  "  First  he  stared  at 
the  table,  and  then  at  his  wife,  and  then  at  Van,  and  then  at  me, 
and  I  tee-heed  right  out j  I  could'nt  hold  in  no  longer;  I  had  a  pain 
in  my  side  for  a  week  arterwards. 

"  '  Pots  tauzend  ! — thousand  devils  !'  said  he, '  what  is  the  meauin' 
of  all  this  ?     The  Lord  sends  provisions,  but  the  devil  sends  cooks.' 

" '  1  wish  he  would  send  me  one  then,'  said  his  wife,  '  for  there  is 
neither  wood  nor  water  in  the  house.  I  can't  cook  without  them; 
and  what's  more,  never  will  cook  with  them  either,  after  this ;  so 
there  now.' 

"  It  sarved  him  right,  didn't  it?" 

"■  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Van  Dam,  "  For  I've  had  a  mind 
to  sarve  him  right,  too,  often  and  often;  for  he  always  calls  me 
(jioose  afore  folks,  because  he  knows  I  don't  like  it." 

8ais  I,  "  My  good  friend,  give  over  talkin'  nonsense  about  your 
name.  Instead  of  bein'  ashamed,  you  have  reason  to  be  proud  of  it. 
A  goose  too,  so  far  from  being  a  foolish  bird,  is  a  very  wise  one.  A 
tiock  of  geese  saved  Rome  onct." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Master  Van,  "  for  a  flock  of  wild  ones 
Kived  La  Haivc  Island  onct.  They  got  overloaded  with  sleet  and 
wet  snow,  and  lighted  on  the  nlearin'  one  spring,  and  was  caught 
there,  and  actilly  saved  the  folks  from  starvation." 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  *'  out  of  gratitude  to  these  birds,  the  Italians 
erected  a  college  for  'em  at  Rome,  and  called  it  the  *  Proper  Gander' 
College." 

"  What!  geese  in  a  college?  Mr.  Slick,  I  shouldn't  wonder  now 
if  that  arnt  one  of  your  good  stories." 

"Geese  in  a  college,"  sais  I;  "to  be  sure,  they  have  them  in 
every  college  in  the  world.  They  always  call  the  head  Don  an  old 
goose,  on  account  of  his  red  nose  and  his  down  bed.     Very  polite 


GOOSE    VAN     DAM 


287 


ave  them  in 


birds  too,  are  geese.  ,  You  never  sec  a  flock  yet  enter  a  door,  even 
it'  it  was  eight  foot  iiigb,  but  every  one  on  'cm  bows  his  head." 

"Well,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  that's  a'  fact,"  said  he,  "for  I've 
observed  it  myself," 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Slick,"  said  his  wife,  who  enjoyed  this  banter  and  non- 
sense, "what  a  man  you  be.     You  havn't  altered  a  bit." 

"  What  I"  said  he,  suddenly,  a^  if  some  onpleasant  suspicion  bad 
entered  into  his  mind,  "  did  you  ever  see  my  wife  before  ?" 

''I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  I,  a-mockin'  of  him;  "for  I  have 
seen  everybody  amost."  But  I  recollected  her  speakin'  of  his  bein' 
jealous.  So  sais  I  to  her,  "  Was  your  name  Oxley,  before  you  was 
married?" 

"  No,"  sais  she. 

"WasitZink?" 

"No." 

"AVell,  it  must  have  been  Wolf,  then?" 

"  No,  it  waru't  W^olf  or  Fox  either." 

"  Was  it  Zwicker  ?" 

"No,"  said  she;  "I  was  a  Hawbolt." 

"  A  Hawbolt,"  sais  I.  "  Was  you  a  Hawbolt  of  Country  Har- 
bour, to  the  eastward  of  Halifax,  or  a  Hawbolt  of  La  Haivc?" 

"  From  La  Halve,"  said  she.  "  And  wlien  you  came  in,  I  actilly 
didn't  know  you  at  first  from  Adau..'' 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "I  knew  I  hud  seen  you  somewhere  this  side  of 
the  grave,  too." 

"  The  grav^  !  what  grave  ?"  said  Van  Dam. 

Kate  looked  tVightened  to  death ;  her  lips  opened,  as  if  for  breath, 
her  colour  faded,  and  she  contracted  her  brows,  as  she  looked  at  me, 
to  intreat  caution. 

"  Why,  grave,  a  vessel  to  be  sure,"  sais  I ;  "  there  was  one  on  the 
beach  when  I  was  there,  and  they  was  a-gravin'  of  her." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Goose,  who  now  appeared  satisfied 
with  the  explanation, 

"  But  this  is  dry  work  talkin',"  sais  I,  "  Goose,  and  it's  awful  hot ; 
that's  a  good  feller,  draw  a  little  fresh  water  from  the  well." 

"Yes,"  said  his  wife,  "and  aint  there  li  little  brandy  in  the 
closet  ?" 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  he.     "See  if  there  aint." 

As  soon  as  he  absented  himself,  she  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Oh  !  Mr.  Slick,"  said  she,  "how  could  you  scare  me  so?  If  he 
was  onct  to  got  hold  of  that  story,  I  should  never  hear  the  last  of  it, 
lie  is  so  jealous." 

"I  see  he  is,"  sais  I,  "and  I  havn't  time  now  to  explain  all  to 
you;  but  I  will  to-morrow;  in  the  meantime,  turn  to,  and  pretend 
to  be  jealous  of  him.  You'll  cure  him  iu  no  time.  Try  him.  I 
will  give  you  an  opportunity  when  he  returns." 


\i 


m 


m 


m 


I'  4    *5:?f 


238 


GOOSE    VAN    DAM. 


"  I  am  afraid,"  she  said. 

"  J  t'J/  1/ou  tr;j  liim  this  oner,  and  see  how  he  likes  it.  ft  is  a 
rule  ill  fife.  If  (t  criltcr  malcrs  a  rhan/e  a(/in  i/on,  fnrn  the  (((hie 
on  him;  accuse  him,  and  Id  him  defend  himself.  It  will  <j ice  him 
phnitjj  to  do.  It's  a  }do(jxiy  si(jht  e((sirr  to  make  a  cliarge  than  to 
exulain  one  away." 

When  lie  returned  wii-h  the  water,  I  lit  a  cigar,  and  went  on  with 
the  conversation  just  where  we  laid  it  down. 

"  I  wonder  you  don't  recollect  gravin'  that  vessel,  Goose,"  said  I, 
*'  for  I  mind  you  put  tlije  mop  into  the  hot  tar,  and  daubed  young 
Metzler  with  it  for  teasing  you  about  Tercza  Hebb." 

"  Tereza,  who  ?"  said  his  wife. 

"Tereza  Ilebb,"  sais  I,  ''that  he  was  a-courtin'  of  at  that  time." 

"  Who,  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  you." 

"What,  Tereza  Ilebb?" 

"  Yes,  Tereza  Ilebb.  You  had  better  pretend  now  you  don't 
recollect.     Ah,  Goose  !''  said  I,  "you're  a  sly  fellow." 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,"  said  his  wife,  "this  is  u  pretty  spot  of 
work!  Why,  Goose,  aint  you  asluuned  of  yourself?  Tereza  Hebb! 
the  bold,  forrard,  impudent  hussy  !  She  was  here  no  longer  ago  nor 
last  week.  If  ever  I  catch  her  inside  this  house  agin  !  And  when 
fihe  found  Goose  was  to  Halifax,  Treza  —  as  he  calls  her  so  lovin'ly 
— wouldn't  stay  with  poor  me.  I'll  give  h<}r  a  piece  of  my  mind. 
Goose,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  of  this  b(.'fore  ?  Oh  dear  !  how  deceit, 
ful  some  men  arc  !  Tereza  Hebb,  eh  ?  Why,  I  never  heard  of  this 
till  this  blessed  moment !" 

"Nor  I  neither,  dear,"  said  he,  "so  don't  take  on  that  way, 
Kate  love." 

"  Oh  !  love  me  no  loves  I"  said  she.  "  I  wish  I  was  in  the  grave  !" 

x\nd  seein'  he  was  a-holdin'  down  of  his  head,  she  gave  me  a 
wink  at  that  word  '  grave',  as  nmch  as  to  say,  there  would  be  a 
plaguy  sight  more  fun  there,  tha;:  foolin'  this  way. 

"Why,  Kate  dear,"  said  her  husband,  "  hnw  can  you  talk  so? 
it's  only  one  of  Mr.  Slick's  good  stories." 

"  Oh  !  I  dare  say  you  think  it  a  good  story.  I  don't  wonder  you 
call  it  so.  Tereza  Hebb;  I  wish  you  had  married  her.  Well,  I 
want  to  know — Mr.  Slick,  do  tell  me  all  about  it;  let  me  know  the 
worst." 

"No"'  said  I,  "I  won't.  I  am  sorry  I  nicntloned  it,  but  I 
thought  everybody  knew  it.  Come,  let  us  change  the  conversation. 
Now,"  sais  I,  "Van  Dam,  I'll  toll  you  a  ntory  about  a  goose  that 
happened  to  Halifax  when  Prince  Edward  was  there.  I  had  it  from 
«n  old  gentlenian  that  was  in  the  7th  luisileors  at  the  time." 

"Tereza  Hebb!"  said  Kate;  "why  it  aint  po.ssible." 

"  Pooh  !"  sais  I;  "  I  believe  you  are  jealous  ?" 


GOOSE    VAN    DAM, 


239 


"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Goose. 

"Wonder!"  said  she,  and  1  touched  her  foot  under  the  table  to 
be  quiet. 

The  worst  of  advisein'  a  woman  is,  they  overdo  things,  and  carry 
'em  too  far,  and  spoil  all ;  so  I  jist  joggled  her  foot. 

"The  7th  Fusileers,"  said  I,  "  was  stationed  to  Halifax  when  the 
Prince  was  here;  and  the  mess-man  kept  an  evcrlastin'  largo  poultry- 
yard.  He  used  to  buy  a  whole  flock  of  geese  at  a  tin)e,  fat  *cm,  and 
kill  'em  as  he  wanted  them.  Well  in  one  of  tiiese  flocks  there  was 
a  feller  that  was  onder  standard-height,  as  they  call  it  in  the  army ; 
and  when  all  was  killed  but  him,  ho  was  turned  over  to  the  next 
flock,  till  he  should  be  fit  for  the  table.  But  whether  he  didn't  like 
these  strange  birds,  or  they  didn't  like  him.  or  he  didn't  call  on  the 
new-comers  and  leave  his  card,  and  they  took  oftence  or  what  not,  I 
don't  know.  At  all  events,  they  lived  apart,  like  officers  and  soldiers, 
and  he  made  up  to  the  mess-nian,  and  always  followed  him  about 
the  yard  everywhere,  and  he  fed  it  himself.  At  last  the  man  grew 
fond  of  the  bird." 

"Oh  !  in  course,"  said  Kate;  "  he  is  not  the  first  man  that  grew 
fond  of  an  under-sized  bird  ;  but  go  on,  Mr.  Hebb — I  me:^-  '^lick." 
"Do  be  quiet,"  sais  I;  "for  every  word  of  this  story  is  true. 
vVnd  he  said  it  shouldn't  be  killed.  It  soon  became  a  general  pet  in 
the  regiment;  everybody  fed  it,  titid  coaxed  it,  and  made  much  of  it. 
Well,  at  last  it  took  up  its  beat  with  the  sentry  at  .the  barrack-gate, 
and  used  to  march  up  and  down  with  him,  and  hundreds  of  people 
used  to  go  to  see  this  extraordinary  goose.  Well,  there  came  ano- 
ther regiment  about  that  time  to  Halifax,  and  the  Prince  ordered 
two  companies  into  the  south  barracks,  where  the  7th  were  quartered, 
for  there  warn't  room  in  the  north  ones ;  and  lo  and  behold  !  when 
these  soldiers  were  on  guard,  the  goose  used  to  look  at  their  uniforms, 
turn  round,  and  off  to  the  poultry-yard,  until  some  of  the  men  of 
the  7th  were  on  duty,  when  he  regularly  marched  backwards  and 
forwards  with  them.  No  money  could  have  bought  that  bird.  All 
foreigners  and  strangers  used  to  go  there  to  see  him;  and  the  Prince 
took  Louis  Philippe,  who  was  at  Halifax  at  that  time,  to  sec  this 
great  attachment  between  the  bird  and  the  regiment. 

"  Well,  one  night — a  very  cold  night — the  sentry,  seein'  the  coast 
vas  clear,  put  down  his  musket  in  the  box,  and  cut  across  the  street 
t(  a  grog-shop,  to  get  a  glass  of  rum ;  but  the  moment  the  man  quit 
his  beat,  the  goose,  thiukin'  there  was  somethin'  wrong,  ran  after 
liim,  squeakin'  and  squealin'  like  auythin',  and  kicked  up  an  awful 
bobbery.  So,  to  rid  himself  of  it,  he  seized  the  goose,  and  wrung 
bis  neck  till  he  killed  him.  The  noise  brought  out  some  of  the 
neighbours,  and  the  feller  was  found  out,  and  the  way  he  was  flogged 
•as  a  caution  to  sinners,  that's  a  fact." 
"That  was  a  faithful  goose,"  said  Kate;  "it  wouldn't  go  after 


'i'l 
■■iil 


till 

4 


I 


.iiii 


2iO 


GOOSE    VAN     DAM 


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1^1    I 
3,1  :■ 


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strange  uniforms,  or  keep  company  with  them,  but  stuck  to  its 
family,  and  lost  its  life  in  their  service.  To  think  diat  I  should  ever 
take  Teresa  Hebb's  iouvings.     Oh,  3Ir.  Van  Dam  !" 

"  Kitty,  dear,"  said  the  great  loon,  almost  blubbcrin',  "there  aint 
u  word  of  truth  in  it;  and  Mr.  Slick,"  said  he,  showin'  me  Lis 
great  sledge-hammer  of  a  fist,  "  I  insist  upon  kuowin'  who  told  you 
that  story." 

"  Sartainly,"  sais  I ;  "  and  dig  it  into  him,  if  it's  false,  till  be 
pings  out  for  mercy." 

"  That's  just  what  I  will  do,"  said  he. 

"Well  then,"  sais  I,  givin'  him  the  name  of  a  dead  man,  "you'll 
have  to  dig  him  up  first,  for  he  is  a  gone  goose.  It  was  Conrad 
Ernst,  and  suppose  the  whole  is  buried  in  the  grave  with  him. 
Come,  shake  hands  and  make  up ;  for  jealousy  is  the  meanest,  and 
lowest,  and  most  despisciiblc  thing  in  natur'.  I  scorn  a  jealous  man 
or  woman  as  I  do  a  nifurer." 


'CO'- 


"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Goose;  and  they  kissed,  and  were 
reconciled. 

"Well,"  sais  I,  "Mr.  Van  Dam,  if  you  weren't  such  an  awful 
jealous  pair,  I  would  like  to  have  that  smack  passed  round ;  but  as 
it's  too  good  for  me,  I'll  try  this  instead  (takin'  a  tumbler  of  punch). 
Here's  your  good  hcaUh  !  long  life  to  both  of  you !  May  there 
always  be  a  goose  in  the  family  1" 

Sophy  dear,  sais  I  to  myself,  when  I  turned  in,  you  needn't  be 
afeerd  of  me;  I  aint  a  goose,  and  I  won't  be  jealous.  First,  I  know 
I  won't  have  no  cause;  and  second,  I  consait  I  am  a  man  no  sensible 
gall  like  you  could  help  lovin';  and  third,  if  any  critter  came 
poachin'  about  my  prcsarvcs,  as  the  English  landlords  say,  I  rather 
guess  he'd  larn  I  can  find  food  for  crows,  as  well  as  phesants.  But 
will  ^ou  be  jealous,  that's  the  question  ?  I  aiut  so  sure  about  that. 
I'm  a  man  that's  fond  of  talkin'  to  women  naterally,  and  I  can't 
give  up  all  the.  world  for  you,  and  more  nor  that,  I  won't.  You'll 
be  all  in  all  to  me,  but  still  there  is  the  world  left  after  all.  We 
must  onderstand  this.  If  1  don't  look  at  other  women,  I  can't 
compare  you  with  them,  and  say,  how  much  handsomer  you  are  than 
this  one,  or  how  much  more  sensible  you  are  than  that  one,  and  so 
on.  We  must  lay  down  wmc  rule  about  jealousi/.  What  shall  it 
he  ?  Suppose  we  take  the  rule  about  the  press.  Be  free,  but  not 
po'sonal ;  free,  but  decent;  free,  but  not  treasonable  to  each  other; 
free,  but  not  licentious ;  free  niggers,  but  not  freebooters.  There 
must  be  some  rule,  that's  a  fact.  If  you  don't  like  that  one,  let's 
take  the  committee  rule,  each  of  Us  shall  have  an  equal  voice,  if 
we  can't  agree  we  will  adjurn,  report  progress,  and  ask  leave  to  .Mt 
again ;  and  if  we  still  difTer,  I  will  give  the  castin'  vote  as  chairman. 
Take  your  choice,  dear,  of  either  of  these  rules,  for  I  wouldn't 
dictate  to  you  for  the  world.  And  now  that  we  onderstand  each 
other,  good-night,  dear;  God  bless  you  ! 


A     HOT    DAY. 


211 


CHAPTER   XXIV, 


A    HOT   DAY. 


On  the  followin'  mornin'  the  household  were  up  and  moviri'  at  a 
very  early  hour.  A  htusty  breakfast  was  prepared  for  Goose,  who 
was  obliged  to  attend  an  auction  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and 
did  not  expect  to  return  until  the  cvcnin'.  I  walked  down  to  the 
beach  with  him,  assisted  him  to  push  off  his  punt,  and  begged  him 
to  return  as  early  as  he  could,  as  it  was  probably  the  last  time  I 
should  ever  be  in  that  part  of  the  country  again. 

There  was  every  indication  of  a  very  hot  day,  and  as  I  pointed  to 
the  mist  ascendin'  from  the  high  grounds  in  slow  and  sluggish 
wreaths,  I  said,  "  Goose,  this  day  is  goin'  to  be  a  sneezer,  I  guess." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  he  said;  for.not  troublin'  his  head  about 
matters  that  didn't  immediately  consarn  him,  he  was  seldom  sur- 
prised at  anythin'. 

My  prognostications  were  fully  verified ;  it  was  a  day  of  intense 
heat.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  eastward,  the  sea  lay  like  an 
ocean  of  melted  silver.  Not  a  rimple  nor  dimple  nor  motion  was 
perceptible  on  it.  It  w^as  two  or  three  hundred  yards  from  the  house, 
60  that  you  could  sec  its  bosom  heave;  for  in  a  gincral  way  it  undu- 
lates even  in  sleep  as  a  female's  does,  and  I've  an  idea  that  the  rote 
on  the  beach  is  the  breathin'  that  swells  it,  when  restiu'  in  slumber 
that  way.  It  shone  like  a  lookin'-glass  in  the  sun,  it  wasn't  easy  to 
look  at  it.  The  beach  is  fine  white  sand,  what's  called  house  sand,  and 
that  is  a  brighter,  clearer  white  than  the  sea,  and  dazzles  and  sparkles 
more.  You  could  actilly  see  the  heat  there,  for  it  seemed  as  if  there 
was  fire  onderneath.  Down  the  little  valley,  the  stream  seemed  as 
if  it  tried  not  to  make  a  noise  as  it  took  the  smoothest  course  to  the 
8ca,  and  lingered  under  the  spruce  boughs,  as  if  it  would  give  any- 
thin'  to  go  to  sleep  there. 

Everythin'  was  stiU.  There  was  not  a  breath  of  air.  Even  Kate 
sat  quiet,  and  didn't  talk.  The  vessels  in  the  offin'  were  motionless, 
and  their  tall  slender  yaller  masts  looked  like  rays  of  light,  not 
doscendiu',  but  ascendin'.  The  cows  stood  still  in  the  brook,  a  ru- 
luiuatin'  on  things  in  general,  and  hot  days  in  particular.  The  birds 
bid  themselves  in  the  trees,  pantiu'  with  the  heat,  and  the  very  in- 
Keots  thought  it  was  too  much  trouble  to  buzz ;  but  a  nasty  senseless 
locust  set  up  a  monotonous  song,  the  only  one  it  can  sing,  the  chorus 
of  which  sounds  amazingly  like  "  Aint  this  a  grand  d\  for  locusts  ?* 
If  I'd  a  had  my  gun  there,  I  would  have  shot  it,  for  I  was  listnin' 


11 


■"fT 


,'i 
'■i\ 


m- 


IF? 


\>~-  Ih 


rf 


242 


A     HOT     DAY, 


to  two  sounds  I  do  dearly  love.  Tt  was  poor  old  Minister  first  taugh* 
me  their  beauty.  He  used  to  say,  "  Sam,  there  are  two  sounds  I  do 
dearly  love :  the  ocean's  surfy,  slow,  deep,  mellow  voice,  full  of 
mystery  and  awe,  moanin'  over  the  dead  it  holds  in  its  bosom,  or 
lulling  them  to  unbroken  slumbers  in  the  chambers  of  its  vastj 
depths;  and  the  silvery  tone  of  the  windin'  brook,  as  it  rejoice-^  on 
its  way  to  the  parent  sea.  I  love  them.  I  love  to  be  alone  with 
them,  and  to  listen  to  them.  Thank  God  for  all  Ilis  mercies,  tlnj 
capacity  for  enjoyin'  nature,  only  lie  that  gives  can  take  away.  No 
bankruptcy  reaches  that,  no  fire  destroys  it,  no  tempest  can  mnke 
shipwreck  of  it.  It  grows  and  increases  with  us  till  we  see  beauty 
even  in  abstractions." 

So  do  I  love  them  too,  as  well  as  Minister.  And  I  love  Kate  for 
not  talkin'  just  now.  Confound  that  locust  I  say,  there  is  no  more 
music  in  hira  than  a  boilin'  tea-kettle. 

Well,  jist  opposite,  in  the  work-shed,  is  a  man  pretcndin'  to  work, 
but  it's  all  pretence,  for  he's  sittin'  down  on  a  pile  of  shavins,  with 
a  spoke-shave  in  his  hands,  a  dressin'  of  a  piece  of  ash  that  is  held 
in  a  wooden  vice.  If  that  aint  the  perfection  of  lazy  whitlin',  then 
I  want  to  know  !  for  he  uses  both  hands  to  the  knife,  and  don't  want 


to  hold  the  stick.     Now  and  then  he 


gets 


up,  stretches  himself 


straight,  to  see  that  none  of  him  has  gotungl\ied  with  the  heat,  then 
lifts  one  leg  up  in  the  air,  and  then  the  other,  prcparin'  for  his  patent 
foot-bath,  and  then  goes  to  the  well,  winds  up  a  bucket  of  cold  water, 
and  puts  half  of  it  in  one  boot,  and  half  in  the  other,  draws  a  long 
breath,  as  if  it  felt  good  to  have  water-tights  on,  and  returns  churuin', 
Bquish-squash,  as  he  goes  back  to  whittle.  Underneath  the  ox-cart 
the  big  black  dog  is  stretched  out  at  full  length,  and  his  great  red 
tongue  lollin'  out  of  his  head,  almost  as  long  as  his  tail.  He  is  too 
lazy  to  go  to  the  brook  and  take  a  swim,  it's  too  much  exertion  in 
the  middle  of  the  day  for  a  stout  gentleman  like  him,  who  has  no 
Bummer  clothes,  and  has  to  wear  his  winter  jacket. 

Now  and  then  he  puts  up  his  paw  indolently  to  brush  off  the  flies 
from  his  naked  nose ;  but  before  the  huge  foot  descends,  the  flics 
are  off;  and  as  soon  as  it's  withdrawn,  back  they  light  to  torment 
the  unoffendin'  soul  again.  At  last,  he  loses  all  patience — and  it's 
very  hard  to  be  bothered  when  you  want  to  go  to  sleep — opens  his 
mouth,  rips  out  a  short  oath,  makes  a  grab  at  fhem,  and  kills  a  dozen 
of  them  right  off  at  one  snap.  But  outside  of  the  black  dog — not 
in  the  shade  of  the  ox-cart,  nor  under  the  great  beech-tree,  but  in 
the  fall  glare  of  the  sun,  with  his  head  uncovered  and  pillowed  in  a 
mould  of  sand  that  fits  it  beautifully,  and  face  upturned,  not  only  in 
full  defiance  of  the  sun  and  flies,  but  in  the  enjoyment  of  both— 
lies  black  Scipio.  What  a  look  of  placid  happiness  is  on  his  face: 
grateful  to  the  Giver  of  all  good  things,  especially  of  hot  days,  and 
at  peace  with  himself  and  all  mankind.     lie  is  just  what  a  Chris* 


A     HOT     DAY. 


248 


tian  ought  to  be,  particularly  a  black  one.  I  have  often  thought  of 
that  landscape  at  Petite  Rivi6ro  as  it  lay  stretched  out  aforo  me  od 
that  evcrlastin'  hot  day. 

Once  I  tried  to  sketch  it,  but  it  was  too  extensive.  The  sea- 
board view  was-  boundless.  The  vessels,  like  them  in  Dutch  paint- 
ins  of  caltus,  tho'  true  to  life,  wanted  life.  They  were  straight  up 
and  down — stiff  and  ongracoful.  The  valley  and  the  groups  I  got 
detached,  but  not  together.  Some  things  are  pretty  to  look  at,  but 
won't  naake  a  pictur'. 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  said  Kate. 

"  What,  dear,"  said  I. 

"  Come  and  set  near  me  at  this  window  that  I  may  smell  your 
cigar,  for  it  is  so  hot  that  I  feel  faint." 

"  No  sooner  said  than  done,"  said  I.  "  But  hush  !"  and  I  put  my 
hand  on  her  arm ;  "■  hush  !  What  is  that?  Did  you  hear  that  loud, 
clear,  shrill  scream  ?" 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Slick  !"  said  she,  '<  do  tell  me  what  that  is !  That  was 
nothing  human  !     How  picrcin'  it  was  I" 

"  Human  !"  said  I;  "I  guess  not.  Secin'  you  and  me  together, 
p'raps  that  are  French  officer,  whose  belt  of  gold  we  dug  up  at  Five 
Houses,  has  blowed  a  whistle  at  us,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  Much  good 
may  it  do  to  you.'  " 

"  Oh,  my  sakes  !"  said  she,  "■  I  wish  I  had  never  touched  it !" 

"  Or  perhaps  it  is  to  warn  Goose  that  I  have  got  nearer  his  pretty 
little  wife  just  now  than  he  would  approve." 

"Pooh!"  said  she. 

"Well,  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  1,  iujitutin'  of  him  to  the  life. 

"Do  you  believe  in  ghosts?"  said  she. 

"Well,  I  do,"  sais  I;  "that's  a  fact.  At  least,  I  can't  say  I 
don't.     I  try  to  believe  in  them." 

"  Try  !"  said  she.     "  Why,  how  very  odd  !" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "it's  the  most  delightful  thing  in*  the  world  to 
believe  in  them.      When  I  die  T  hope  I  may  be  permitted  to  be 


one 


>) 


"  Well  I  nov(M-  in  all  my  born  days  !"' said  she. 

"  Dancin'  in  the  sunbeam  w^ien  it's  cool,  or  in  the  shady  groves 
when  it's  warm.  No  bones  to  ache,  no  flesh  to  pine  away,  no  heart 
to  grieve — all  shadowy  form,  all  calm  pleasure.  How  beautiful  the 
world  must  look,  and  all  that's  in  it !  and  the  mysteries  of  the  deep 
revealed,  and  dead  French  captains  with  belts  of  doubloons  round 
them  in  the  grave  !" 

"Oh,  3Ir.  Slick  !"  she  said,  "now  that  spoils  all.  Oh  !  go  on  as 
you  did.  That's  grand  about  their  being  kind  of  fairies.  I  like 
that.     Moonlight  must  be  their  holiday  time,  mustn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  sais  I.  "But  then  I'm  afeard  it  must  be  dull  music,  foi 
there  is  no  love,  you  know,  no  hope,  no  fear,  no  heat,  no  cold.     A 


'■n 


I 


1  M 


& 


t 


1} 


(9 


I 


n 

t; 

■^ 

Mni  \  1  1 

.  / 

^uw 

.  1  . 

H 

i  ^' 

Ik' 

i 

■1 

i 

1 

i 

' 

1 

I, 

if 

!ir 

244 


A     HOT     D  A  V 


Ivind  of  samcnosa  is  fairy  life,  tof).  Put,  your  arm  round  a  neat  little 
jirticlo  of  a  foiuiilo  fairy  and  there's  nothiu'  to  squeeze.  Look  up 
into  her  face,  and  there  is  no  eyes,  only  expression — no  luouth, 
uothin'  but.  a  smile;  for  if  there  was,  there  would  bo  toothache.  If 
you  go  to  kis.s  her,  your  head  goes  right  thro'  her  head,  and  h(,r 
head  right  through  yourn.  'J'hcro  arc  no  lips.  In  the  long  run, 
p'raps  wo  had  better  be  contejitcd  as  we  bo.  A  livin',  solid,  corn- 
fed  gall,  arter  all,  may  bo  better  than  a  shadowy,  vapory,  cold  fairy  " 

"  Then  why  is  it  you  try  to  believe  in  them,  and  want  to  bo  one?" 

"  IJccause  I  want  to  believe,  if  I  can,  that  them  that  loved  us  in 
this  world  are  about  us  and  around  us,  watchin  over  us,  and  guardin' 
us,  both  asleep  and  awake,  and  intereediu'  for  us." 

"  Ah,  now  you  talk  sense,"  said  nhe.  "  That's  a  pretty  thought. 
Oh !  it's  a  shame  fur  a  man  who  can  talk  as  well  as  you  can  to  mix 
up  so  much  nonsense  with  it.    Oh  !  that's  a  beautiful  idea  of  fairies  !" 

Here  again  the  same  shriek  was  heard  louder,  because  nearer  thau 
before.     It  was  certainly  a  start lin'  sound — it  was  so  very  thrillin'. 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  said  she,  "  I  am  frightened !  What  in  the  world 
can  it  be  r' 

But  I  didn't  know  and  couldn't  exactly  guess.  But  as  I  never 
allow  myseli'  to  be  non-plussed,  sais  1 : 

''  It  will  make  you  laugh  at  your  own  fears  when  you  do  know, 
and  see  what  it  is." 

A  man  should  never  say  he  don't  know  if  he  can  cut  round  a 
corner  any  way  in  the  world.  Men  who  have  the  greatest  reputation 
for  larnin'  more  nor  half  the  time  get  the  name  by  preteudin'.  A 
little  smatterin',  like  a  drop  or  two  of  essence,  goes  a  great  way.  It's 
easy  to  carry,  got  the  right  flavour,  and  no  one  knows  how  small  a 
quantity  you've  got  of  it.  When  I  was  to  London,  I  met  a  nian, 
who  said  he  knew  thirty  languages,  and  he  used  to  write  poetry,  and 
pretended  they  were  translations  of  languages  of  the  dead,  or  ilunn 
that  were  livin*  the  Lord  knows  where.  Old  Polyglot  I  used  to  call 
him.  I  shall  never  forget  the  rise  I  took  out  of  him  onct,  and  how 
I  made  our  Minister  stare.  lie  was  dinin'  at  the  Embassy,  and 
said  he : 

"  Mr.  Slick,  how  strange  it  is  that  an  American  seldom  speaks  any 
language  but  his  own." 

Those  Britishers  have  always  some  fault  to  find  with  us,  and  think 
nobody  knows  anythin'  but  themselves. 

''Well,"  sais  I,  "that's  a  univarsal  one  amost.  Our  two  great 
nations  have  spread  it  nearly  all  over  the  world.  But  how  many  do 
you  understand  ?" 

"I'm  it.ihamed  to  say,"  said  he,  pretendin'  to  look  very  modest, 
and  talkia'  confidential  like,  "I  only  know  thirty." 

"  Thirty  1"  sais  I,  "  why  that's  a  vast  number  for  one  little  tongue 
to  manage,  and  lick  into  shape  too,  aint  it?     What  a  wonderful 


m 


A     HOT    DAY. 


24ft 


thing  the  head  is,  to  hold  55uch  a  library.  It  always  seems  to  me  to 
be  like  an  Indian-rubber  bag,  however  full  it  is,  there  is  always  soino 
room  for  a  little  nioro.  I  should  be  almost  ycared  to  stuflF  mine  that 
way,  for  fear  it  would  squeeze  some  things  out  of  tothcr  ccndj  and 
when  you  went  to  look  for  'em  you'd  lind,  as  a  feller  does  who  has  a 
tliievin'  servant,  that  they  were  gone,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  ser- 
vants would  swear  they  never  saw  'em,  they  must  have  been  lost  or 
broken  afore  they  came.     Thirty  languages!  why  do  tell?" 

Well,  ho  looked  like  one  of  the  pyramids,  which,  every  time  you 
see  it,  seems  to  stretch  up  a  little  higher. 

"  Thirty !"  sais  I,  "■  well  you  beat  me.  I'm  a  man  that  never 
brags  or  boa.sts,  or  sais  much,  being  a  silent  man,  in  a  general  w^y, 
and  likin'  to  hear  bettor  than  talkin' ;  but  you  beat  mc  all  holler.  I 
am  willin'  to  admit  my  deficiency,  I  can  only  understand  twenty- 
tive." 

"  Twenty-tive  !"  said  he.  '*  Mr.  Slick,  give  me  your  hand.  I 
believe  you  and  J  may  justly  boast  of  havin'  made  greater  progress 
ihan  any  two  men  now  livin"." 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "  I  never  boast.     The  more  I  lam,  the  more  it 

appears  to  me  I  have  to  lam.     But  between  you  and  nif,  I  can  go 

tVom  one  ecud  of  the  continent  of  America  to  the  other  y^ind  so  can 

nybody  that  is  fool  enough  to  try  it,  but  I  didn't  say  so):     I  have 

on  a  great  deal  among  the  Indians.    Can  you  speak  the  Micmae?" 

'  No,"  said  he. 

"•What  not  the  Micmae?"  sais  I;  'Mt's  what  the  Nova  Scotia 
Indians  talk.  It's  amost  a  beautiful  language,  but  they  use  terrible 
long  words.  You  see  they  have  plenty  of  leisure  to  talk,  as  they 
don't  work,  and  are  never  in  a  hurry,  so  they  take  their  time.  Now 
VTC  call  A  male  fowl  a  cock,  for  shortness,  they  call  him  keequwee- 
quechnabaoo.  The  only  thing  that's  short  is  couutin',  for  that  must 
be  (lone  quick,  as  na-ookt,  one;  tah-boo,  two;  and  so  on.  Not  know 
Micniac,''  .sais  I,  '*  well,  it's  a  pity,  for  it's  the  most  perfect  Indian 
languages  there  is.  Well,  there  is  the  Abenaqui,  that  is  the  New 
Brunswick  nation." 
"No." 

"Why  how  singular,"  sais  I.  "Nor  the  Red  Indians?"  (I  didn't 
tell  him  they  -were  extinct). 
"No." 

"  Nor  the  Choctaw  ?  Iroquois  ?  Snakes  ?  Flpridas  ? 
"No,"  sais  he,  "I  don't  understand  any  of  them." 
"  Well,  north  of  the  Great  Slave  Lake  is  another  family,  divided 
into  the  Copper  Indians,  the  Hare  Indians,  and  the  Dogribs;  away 
ofl'  south  is  another  division  of  nations,  such  as  the  Gallibees,  Puel- 
thces,  and  Toupees.     The  Indian  languages  are  the  most  beautiful 
la  the  known  world.    They  are  Indian-rubber  ones,  they  stretch  out. 
It's  done  by  gummification,  addin'  on  extra  syllables." 
21* 


n 


1^ 


fl'iji 


.jzsa 


246 


A     HOT    DAT. 


\M 


I 


iii 


"Agglutination,  we  call  it,"  Laid  he,  correctin'  me. 

"I  know  you  do,"  sais  I,  "and  most  probably  it's  the  propei 
word  in  your  everlastin'  long  list. of  languages,  for  the  folks  that 
spoke  them  it's  likely  knew  what  glue  was.  Our  Indians  only  know 
gums.  Indeed  there  aint  any  glue  made  in  America,  except  at 
Charleston  and  New  Orleens,  and  that  is  the  best  in  the  world,  for, 
instead  of  the  skins  of  animals,  it's  made  out  of  nigger-hides,  espe- 
cially old  niggers,  who  are  biled  down  for  the  purpose.  That's  tho 
raeanin'  of  our  old  sayin'  '  it  sticks  like  grim  death  to  a  dead  nigger.' 
Uncle  Tom  told  mc  it  was  a  positive  fact." 

"How  shockin',''  said  he. 

"Oh,  yes,"  sais  I,  lookin'  innocent,  "it's  shockiiK;  good  glue.  Now 
gummm'  on  syllables  makes  one  word  express  a  whc'e  sentence,  the 
only  thing  is  they  are  shockin'  long,  long  enough  for  che  stringer  of 
a  bridge  a'most." 

"  Do  they  write  ?"  said  he. 

"  Oh  yes,  they  write,  and  always  have  from  the  earliest  ages,  but 
it's  more  marks  than  letters.  Unfortunately  they  always  make  them 
in  blood,  as  you  might  suppose,  but  the  colour  and  meanin'  of  that 
fades  out  in  time." 

"  I  never  heard  that  before,"  he  said,  "  how  singular." 

"  But  the  most  curious  inquiry,  and  most  interestin',  far  be3'ond 
Polar  discoveries,  and  all  that  nonsense,"  sais  I,  "  is,  what  language 
Adam  and  Eve  spoke.  I  have  a  theory  on  that,  I  think  it  is  what 
the  Carribs  speak ;  for  they  lived  like  the  Carribs,  who  still  wear  fig- 
leaved  aprons,  and  that  word  'car,'  is  dear  or  sweet,  and  'rib'  is  a 
woman  or  wife.  It's  a  wonderful  illustration  of  Eve's  formation, 
and  it's  a  plausible  theory  at  any  rate." 

*"  No,  Sir,"  said  he,  lookin'  as  wise  as  I  did,  "  it  was  Hebrew,  I 
think." 

Here  Minister  rose,  and  we  joined  the  ladies;  and  Old  Polyglot 
told  Embassador  I  was  a  man  of  extraordinary  attainments,  but  of 
still  greater  modesty,  for  he  had  actually  to  draw  me  out,  I  was  so 
silent.  He  remarked  that  I  might  be  said  to  speak  every  language 
but  my  own,  I  was  so  resarved. 

Pretend  you  know,  and  half  the  time,  if  it  aint  as  good  as  knowin', 
it  will  sarve  the  same  purpose.  Mart/  a/eUer  looks  fat,  who  is  o.Jv 
swelled,  as  the  Germans  say.     But  to  get  back  to  Mrs.  Van  Dara. 

"  Mr.  Slick,  do  you  think  that's  a  ghost  ?" 

"  I  know  it  aint,"  sais  I,  "  for  ghosts  are  only  vapours,  and  the 
suq's  so  hot,  it  would  evaporate  it  right  up,  make  it  hiss  like  a  drop 
of  water  on  a  hot  stove.     Ghosts  never  walk  by  day." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Slick  !"  she  said,  "  don't  talk  that  way.  You  don't  know 
what  you  are  a  sayin'  of." 

"Well,"  sais  I,  "sposin'  it  was  a  ghost,  it  mightn't  frighten  you 
HO  much  arter  all.     I'll  tell  you  a  story,"  sais  I. 


A     HOT    DAY. 


247 


the  propel 

folks  ihat 

only  know 

except  at 

world,  for, 

hides,  espe- 

That's  tho 

sad  nigger.' 


glue.  Now 
entence,  the 
I  stringer  of 


st  ages,  but 
;  make  them 
in  in'  of  that 


',  far  beyond 
hat  language 
k  it  is  what 
ill  wear  fig- 
id  'rib'  is  a 
s  formation, 

s  Hebrew,  I 

)ld  Polyglot 
ents,  but  of 
)ut,  I  was  so 
ery  language 

as  knowin', 
who  is  o.ihj 
Van  Dam. 

>urs,  and  the 
;s  like  a  drop 


u 


don't  know 


frighten  you 


"  Do,"  sais  she,  "  it's  a  great  privilege  to  hear  you  talk.  Come, 
what  is  it  ?" 

"Well/'  s"  is  I,  "there  was  an  Irish  clergyman  to  Nova  Scotia 
some  years  ago ;  I  overhauled  him  on  the  Halifax  road,  at  the  head 
of  the  basin.  He  was  one  of  the  kindest-hearted  old  men  I  ever 
knew;  a  real  pleasant  feller,  and  no  nonsense  about  hii-^. 

"  Hallo,  Slick !"  said  he,  "1  want  to  have  a  trade  with  you. 
Come  and  stop  with  me  to-night,  and  I'll  exchange  Irish  stories  with 
you  for  Yankee  ones." 

'^  Only  too  proud,"  sais  I,  "  parson."  So  we  drove  on  to  his  quar- 
ters, and  hauled  up  for  a  protracted  meetin'  that  night,  for  I  knowed 
when  he.  got  a  talkin'  he'd  run  on  like  my  clock  for  twenty-four 
hours  on  a  stretch.  When  we  got  comfortably  settled  down,  sais 
he: — - 

"  Come,  I'll  lead  off,  and  you  must  follow  suit.  In  my  parish  in 
Ireland  there  was  a  broth  of  a  boy,  called  Paddy  McQnade.  The 
divil  a  row  but  he  was  foremost  in,  or  a  fight  with  the  sodgers  but 
he  got  his  head  broke,  or  did  that  same  friendly  act  for  some  one 
else.  Well,  the  priest  could  make  no  hand  of  him  at  all,  at  all,  tind 
he  used  to  warn  him,  he  would  bo  sure  to  go,  when  he  died,  to  a 
certain  place,  that  aint  fit  to  bo  spoke  of  in  genteel  company,  but  it 
was  all  to  no  use.  Every  time  ho  came  to  confession,  he  had  the 
same  long  list  to  go  over.  He  was  drunk,  or  he  took  a  shot  at  a 
polisheman,  or  pysoned  the  landlord's  dogs,  ui  somethin'  or  another; 
and  he  seemed  to  get  worse  instead  of  better. 

"  '  Pat,'  said  the  priest,  '  I  warn  you  for  the  last  time,  you'll  cer- 
tainly go  to  the  bottomless  pit.' 

"  '  Oh  !  Father  John,'  said  he,  '  don't  be  always  arter  botherin' 
rae  about  the  bottomless  pit;  many  a  place  has  a  worse  name  than  it 
ci^sarves,  and  it  is  the  case  with  that  self-same  one.  I've  been  there, 
and  a  dismal-lookin'  place  enough  it  is,  too ;  but  the  entertainment 
aiut  bad,  if  you  have  only  plenty  money  in  your  pockets.  How  I 
got  there,  or  how  I  got  out,  is  more  than  I  can  tell,  unless  it  was 
your  riverence  treated  me  to  a  visit  to  scare  me.  Well,  there  was 
no  day  there,  no  sun,  no  moon,  no  stars,  but  all  was  as  dark  and  as 
black  as  the  havnted  bog,  where  the  heretics,  that  was  bu.  ued  in  the 
barn,  was  buried.  One  fine  night  I  wakes  up  there,  aud  the  black 
divils  were  movin'  about,  and  the  fire  burniii'  out  of  their  head  like 
ga.s-pipes  to  light  'em.  The  top  of  the  mornin'  to  you,  sais  I,  to 
one  of  them,  that  looked  like  a  dacent  sort  of  imp  of  darkness 
There's  no  mornin'  here,  sais  he,  only  one  thunderin'  long  night. 
Where  am  I  ?  said  I.  In  the  bottomless  pit,  said  he.  Ah  I  blood 
and  ounds,  sais  I,  Father  John  always  told  me  I'd  get  here,  but  1 
never  believed  him,  and  here  I  am  at  last,  l^ad  luck  lo  it !  I  never 
thought  it  would  come  to  this,  I  thought  he  was  only  tryin'  to 
frighten  me.     Says  I,  liave  you  anythin'  to  eat  or  drink  ?     Lashins 


i 


^ 


248 


A     HOT    DA'Y. 


I?' 


^i 


t^ 


'$ 


w 


!:i 


Hi 


of  it,  says  he,  if  you've  only  money  in  your  pocket.  Well,  I  made 
a  dacent  meal  enough,  considerin'  all  things,  and  took  a  taste  of  the 
cratur',  and  went  to  sleep  to  forget  my  misfortins;  and  what  do  you 
think,  Father  John,  they  found  arter  all  ?  I  warn't  bad  enough  for 
them,  for  they  jest  turned  me  out,  and  laid  me  under  the  fence,  for- 
nenst  Tim  Maloney's ;  and  when  I  waked  up  T  peeped  over  the  wall 
to  see  if  the  coast  was  clear,  and  off  home  as  fast  as  my  legs  could 
carry  me.' " 

"  Well,  the  priest  thought  he  had  d^iilirium  tremens,  and  just 
turned  him  out ;  but  when  he  came  to  inquire  about  it,  he  found 
they  had  picked  him  up  drunk,  a.:a  let  him  down  into  a  miniu' -shaft 
out  of  a  bit  of  a  spree,  and  when  he  came  to,  they  intoxicated  him 
again,  and  hauled  him  up  in  the  tub.  So,  don't  be  frightened,  dear, 
if  it  is  a  ghost,  I'm  not  afeard  of  them." 

"  What  a  strange  story,  Mr.  Slick ;  do  you  believe  it  ?" 

"Well,"  sais  I,  "  I  give  it  to  you  as  the  parson  told  it  to  me; 
but  Irish  stories  can't  all  be  taken  for  facts.  Some  folks  tell  stories, 
as  if  they  happened  in  their  own  knowledge,  and  tell  'em  so  often, 
they  believe  them  themselves  at  last.  Whothej*  it  really  took  place 
in  his  parish,  or  he  made  it  out  of  the  whole  cloth,  or  read  it,  I 
don't  know;  I  give  it  to  you  just  as  I  got  it.  But  jist  look  out 
here,  Kate;  look  at  that  are  nigger." 

At  that  moment  a  young,  good-lookin'  black  man  made  his  appear- 
ance in  the  road.  He  had  a  pair  of  blue  cloth  trowsers  on,  a  white 
deeply-frilled  shirt,  with  high  stiif  starched  collars,  and  wore  a  black 
satinet  stock.  His  hat  was  rakishly  placed  on  the  side  of  his  head, 
the  wool  of  which  was  curled,  as  if  it  had  just  come  from  a  carding- 
mill.  In  one  hand  he  carried  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  with  the 
other  swung  a  little  yellow  rattan,  with  an  air  of  great  self-satisfac- 
tion. 

When  he  came  to  where  the  old  nigger  was  asleep,  baskin'  in  the 
Bun,  he  paused  a  moment,  stooped  down,  and  uttered  that  terrific 
scream,  which  was  an  imitation  of  that  which  the  Loon  gives  when 
divin'  from  fright.  Mrs.  Van  Dam  gave  a  screech  herself  almost  as 
shrill,  and  springin'  up  fell  over  on  my  breast  and  shoulders.  Fact 
is,  I  was  scared  too,  not  at  the  black  feller's  yell,  but  at  the  situation 
we  two  was  in ;  for  it  wasn't  just  the  place  for  anothei;  man's  wife, 
and  that  a  jealous  man  too,  that's  a  fact.     So  sais  I: 

"  Kate,  here's  Goose ;  be  quick." 

It  brought  her  to  in  a  minute. 

'^  Oh,  dear !"  she  said ;  "  how  faint  I  am !"  and  I  got  up,  and 
lianded  her  a  glass  of  water. 

better 


(( 


dear  ?' 


you 


go 


compose   y( 


"  No/'  said  she ;  "  I'm  better  now.     I'm  glad  I  know  at  laat 


m 


A    HOT    DAY. 


249 


Tfhat  that  sound  was.     Your  talk  about  fairies,  and  that  fellow's 
screamin',  nearly  set  me  crazy." 

"What  do  dcbbil  do  you  mean,  Caesar?"  said  the  old  rcan,  "by 
makiu*  dat  are  onmeanin',  misintelligible  noise,  you  ignorant  mis- 
broughten-up  nigger?" 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Scipio !  I  didn't  mean  no  manner  of  rcmaginablo 
harm,  only  a  little  fun,  I  do  ressure  you,  Sar." 

"Which  way  is  you  goin',  Caesar,  boy?"  said  the  old  man,  appa 
rently  satisfied  with  the  apology,  "  all  dress  out  so  pitticular  fine,  st 
airly  in  de  day?" 

"  Coin'  to  Halifax,  uncle,  to  de  great  ablution  meetin'  ob  de  peoplt< 
ob  color." 

"Much  you  knows  about  ablution — don't  you,  Ca3sar?  Now 
what  does  ablution  mean  ?" 

"  It  means  a  great  tea-party  and  ball  for  free  colored  people,  to  be 
sure,"  said  the  beau,  with  a  disdainful  toss  of  his  head.  "  We  is 
to  hab  de  military  band  to  play  for  us ;  for  do  gubbernor  is  a  great 
ablutionist." 

"  Ki,"  said  Scipio,  "  do  gubbernor  only  tink  o'  dat.  Yah  !  yah  I 
yah  !     Is  de  gubbernor  a  colored  gentleman,  Caesar?" 

"  Oh !  Uncle  Scip,  you  knows  better  nor  dat,  what  nonsense  !'' 
"  What  de  debil  has  nuissa  gubbernor  or  you  cider  to  do  with 
ablution.    Better  if  both  on  you  minded  your  own  business.    Ncider 
of  you  knows  nuiFin  of  what  you  is  a-talkin'  of.     Come,  Caesar,  tell 
me,  boy,  is  you  goin'  to  dine  with  massa  gubbernor?" 

"Why,  Uncle  Scip,  I  believe  you  is  crazy — me!  why  no." 
"  Not  dine  with  do  gubbernor  !     Yah  !  yah  !  yah  !     \\(A\  dat  do 
beat  all." 

"  Why,  uncle,  I's  only  a  nigger,  you  know." 
"  What  o' dat?     Gubbernor  is  ahlutionist.     Lot  hiiu  maucipato 
bisself  fust  of  his  pride  ',   and  if  you  and  he  is  equal,  make  you 
equal  in  fact.     Dat  is  what  I  calls  ablution  in  airnest.      Didn't  Ad 
miral  Warren  steal  me  from  my  good  old  massa  on  de  Chesapeake, 
and  from  my  dear  missus,  and  my  warm  house,  and  fetch  me  down 
here  to  starve  in  dis  intensible  cold  country.    Is  dat  ablution  ?    Yes, 
yes,  I  is  an  old  fool;  but  I  knows  de  British  took  us  from  our 
'iMerican  massas,  but  dey  didn't  take  us  vp  to  dcmselves.    Now  look 
here,  Caesar,  for  you  is  a  smart  man,  consideriu'  bow  your  edication 
was  so  shameful!  neglected,  nebbcr  havin'  been  among  gentlemen, 
but  only  Dutch  sour-crouts,  up  de  ribber  da,  who  is  most  as  iguoranf 
us  deir  oxen.     Yes !  you  is  an  understandiu'  man,  and  good-lookin' 
nigger  too,  consideriu'  de  almighty  iiard  work  you  has  to  do ;  and 
dut  is  to  carry  de  ox-whip  all  da}\    Yah  !  yah  !  yah  !    Well,  Caesar, 
boy,  I'll  tell  you  what  ablution  is.     In  winter  you  know  da  is  a  foot 
of  snow  on  de  ground." 
"In  course,"  said  Caesar,  lookia'  very  wise,  "  I  knows  it." 


m 


'ill 


\^ 


%''i 


i. 


i-i 


or. 


50 


A    HOT    DAY. 


"  Well  den  massa  gubbcrnor,  who  is  ablutionist,  sends  for  his  hoaa, 
and  sais,  ^  You  bin  good  boss,  bery  faithful,  bery  trusty  ;  I  gib  you 
bery  good  character.  Now  I  mancipate  you ;  you  free  nigga  now.* 
Well  de  boss  cock  up  his.  ear,  hold  up  his  head,  stick  up  his  tail, 
and  kick  up  his  heels  like  de  debil.  Well  de  raedder  is  all  covered 
wid  snov/,  and  dere's  nuffin  to  eat  dcre ;  and  oiF  he  goes  to  de 
farmer's  barn-yard;  and  farnici  he  set  de  dogs  on  him.  Den  he 
take  to  de  woods;  but  he  don't  understand  brousin',  for  he  was 
broiighten  up  'mong  gentlemen,  and  he  got  no  straw  for  bed, 
and  no  rug  to  keep  off  cold,  and  he  wants  to  be  took  back  agi^. 
He  don't  like  ablution  in  cold  country.  lie  rader  work  for  some- 
thin'  to  eat  in  winter,  dan  be  free  and  starve.  Dat  is  all  massa  gub- 
bernor  knows  'bout  ablution.  Help  me  up  now,  Coosar,  boy,  dat  is 
a  good  feller,"  and  he  gave  him  his  left  hand;  and  clavSpin'  it  fast, 
as  he  rose  to  his  feet,  he  knoeke^l  the  dandy's  hat  off  with  the  right 
fist,  and  nearly  demolished  the  crown  of  it,  and  then  suddenly 
wheelin'  him  round,  give  him  two  or  three  good,  sound,  solid  kicks. 
*' Dare,"  said  he,  lettin'  him  go,  "you  is  emancipated  —  you  is  free 
nigga  now;  dat  is  ablution.  Clar  off,  you  pork  and  cabbage  nigga 
you.  Take  dat  for  de  onarthly  scream  you  woke  me  up  wid,  and 
frightened  de  lady  to  de  winder  da.  So  make  tracks  now,  and  go 
dine  wid  massa  gubberuor.      Yah  !  yah  !  yah !" 

"  Do  you  feel  better  now  ?"  sais  I,  ''  Kate,  I  told  you  I  had  no 
doubt,  when  you  diskivered  what  that  noise  was  you  would  laugh  at 
your  own  fears." 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  said,  "but  I  must  say  I  was  awfully  scared  at 
first.  That  fellow  jist  got  what  he  wanted,  a  good  kickin'.  I  hope 
it  will  cure  him  of  makin'  such  unairthly  noises.  Those  free  Yankee 
niggers  are  curses  to  the  country.  We  should  have  no  poor  rates  if 
it  wasn't  for  them." 

"  It  sarves  colonists  right,"  sais  I,  "  they  talk  of  emancipatin'  oui 
slaves,  why  don't  they  emancipate  themselves." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Dam,  "  I  was  awfully  scared  by  the  nigger." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "  if  you  was  frightened,  you  weren't  half  so  much 
as  I  was  when  you  kinder  fainted  on  lay  shoulder  that  way.  Oh 
dear !  Goose  lla.shed  across  my  mind  then,  and  his  great  big  fists, 
and  I  felt  a  buzzin'  kind  of  noise  iu  my  ears,  and  the  jurapiu'  tooth- 
ache came,  and  I  saw  the  sparks  flyin'  out  of  my  eyes;  if  he  had  a 
come  in,  he'd  a  chawed  me  right  up,  1  do  suppose,  afore  I'd  had  time 
to  explain.  What  a  pity  it  is,  he  should  be  so  jealous,  for  there  is 
no  happiness  where  that  is." 

"  I  know  it  to  my  sorrow,"  she  said. 

''  Well,  l)ien,  do  you  just  try  the  receipt  I  gave  you  'sterday," 
said  I.  "  Put  him  on  the  defensive  at  once.  He  knows  how  little 
oause  you  have,  and  will  soon  begin  to  see  how  little  room  there  is  foi 


OITR    COLONIES     AND     SAILORS 


251 


his  hoflfl, 

I  gib  you 
gga  now.' 
p  his  tail, 

II  covered 
3CS  to  de 

Den  he 
ir  he  was 

for  bed, 
lack  agi^. 

for  some- 
lassa  gub- 
)oy,  dat  ia 
,n'  it  fast, 
I  the  right 

suddenly 
olid  kicks, 
y^ou  is  free 
'age  nigga 
p  wid,  and 
iw,  and  go 

I  I  had  no 

[d  laugh  at 

scared  at 

.     I  hope 

•ee  Yankee 

lor  rates  if 

jipatin'  oui 

le  nigger." 
Ilf  so  much 
way.  Oh 
t  big  lists, 
pin'  tooth- 
he  had  a 
Id  had  time 
•r  there  is 


jstcrday," 

how  little 

there  is  foi 


t.  i 


his  fears  either.    I  told  him  so  this  mornin'.     *  Goose/  said  I,  <  don't 
be  foolish ;  I  see  you  are  a  little  jealous.' 

"  'I  shouldn't  wonder,'  said  he,  'if  I  was.' 

'' '  Well  I'll  tell  you  how  it  will  eventuate/  sais  I;  'you've  got  as 
nice  a  little  wife  as  there  is  in  :he  provinces,  and  there's  no  harm  in 
her ;  but  if  you  treat  her  suspiciously,  you  will  put  harm  into  her 
head  in  no  time,  and  she'll  get  jealous  of  you,  and  mind  what  I  tell 
you,  a  jealous  woman  is  the  devil ;  and  besides,'  sais  I,  '  Goose,'  " 
and  I  gave  her  a  wink,  " '  when  you  consider  what  a  handsome  feller 
you  are,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed,' 

"'  Well,'  said  he,  *I  shouldn't  wonder.  It  shan't  happen  agin, 
Mr.  Slick.' " 

"  Well  you  have  done  me  a  rael  kindness,"  she  said,  "  and  I  never 
shall  forget  you." 

"At  the  same  time/'  sais  I,  "it's  mitcral  for  him  to  be  jealous 
too." 

"  How  so  ?"  said  she,  a  colourin'  up. 

"Any  man/'  sais  I,  "that  has  such  an  everlastin'  handsome 
wife—" 

"Phoo,"  sais  she,  risin'  up,  ''don't  talk  nonsense,  I  must  go  and 
see  after  dinner,"  and  she  pinched  my  ear,  as  she  passed,  and  said, 
"  any  woman  that  marries  you  will  have  good  reason  to  be  jealous,  I 
know;  for  I  never  saw  such  a  flirtin',  go.ssippiu',  flatterin'  sort  of  a 
man  coquette  in  my  life.  I  believe  in  my  heart  it's  nothin'  but  the 
fear  of  Goose  that  kept  you  in  order  to-day." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  I. 

"Nor  I  either/'  said  she, ""for  there's  many  a  true  word  said  in 
jest." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

OUR  COLONIES   AND   SAILORS. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  a  light  sea-breeze  sprung  up  and  cooled  the 
heated  air  of  the  narrow  valley  of  Petite  lliviere.  Lightin'  a  cigar, 
I  strqllcd  down  to  the  beach  to  await  the  return  of  Van  Dam. 

There  was  a  large  oak  tree  a  little  above  the  landwash,  and  under- 
neath it  was  a  pile  of  deals  that  had  been  sawed  at  the  mill  near  the 
bridge  at  the  main  road.  Mountin'  this  for  a  scat,  I  sat  down  in 
the  shade,  and  was  off  in  a  day-divam  about  Jordan  and  Sophy  in 
little  less  than  half  no  time. 

I  was  soon  so  deep  in  these  thoughts,  that  I  did  not  hear  the 


If 

i   i 

f 

iTff 

" 

i..: 

1. 

I*    i'' 


i! 


Ml 


I ,:  I*' 


1 

1  in 

i  inl 

lllffSljHj 

^^^^1 

262 


OUR     COLONIES     AND     SAILORS 


approach  of  a  sailor,  who  now  stood  before  me,  and  touchin'  his  hat, 
said : 

"  No  offence,  Sir,  I  hope,  for  I  wouldn't  offend  you  for  the  world. 
Can  you  tell  me  the  best  road  to  take  to  St.  John,  New  Brunswick  ? 
I  have  had  the  misfortune  to  be  shipwracked,  and  want  to  get  back 
to  England.     St  John  is  one  of  'our  colonies/  aint  it  ?" 

"  Yes,"  sais  I,  for  it  would  have  been  a  long  lockrum  to  have  told 
him  who  I  was;  "  but  sit  down  here,  and  tell  me  about  your  ship. 
wrack."  Our  colonies.  Come,  that's  pretty  well.  Every  English- 
man,  from  a  member  of  parliament  that  addresses  you  by  letter,  Hali- 
fax, Nova  Scotia,  Upper  Canada,  and  a  governor  that  has  nothin'  to 
do  now  Imt  sign  his  name  to  papers,  and  talks  of  his  measures,  who 
has  no  iiicasure  but  what  he  left  at  his  tailor's  in  London,  down  to 
Jack  Tar,  says  "  our  colonies,"  and  thinks  he  is  part  owner  of  these 
possessions,  and  looks  down  on  the  poor  outlandish  provincials  with 
a  condescendin'  air  of  superiority. 

Well,  the  colonists  look  upon  all  these  wiseacres  with  the  same 
feelins  of  pity  as  m6n  who  are  not  only  thick-headed  and  wrong- 
headed,  but  simple  people  who  don't  know  what  they  are  talking 
about.  Siich  folks  with  such  fecUns  ain^t  lihehj  to  benefit  each  other 
much.  The  organization  is  wrong.  They  are  two  people,  but  not 
one.  It  shouldn^t  he  England  and  her  colonies,  but  they  should  be 
integral  parts  of  one  great  lohole — all  counties  of  Great  Britain. 
There  should  be  no  taxes  on  colonial  produce,  and  the  colonies 
should  not  be  allowed  to  tax  British  manufactures.  All  should  pass 
free,  as  from  one  town  to  another  in  England ;  the  whole  of  it  one 
vast  home-market,  from  Hong-Kong  to  Labrador. 

They  should  be  represented  in  parliament,  help  to  pass  English 
laws,  and  show  them  what  laws  they  wanted  themselves.  All  dis* 
tinctions  should  bo  blotted  out  for  ever.  It  should  be  no  more  a 
bar  to  a  man's  promotion  as  it  is  now  that  he  lived  beyond  seas,  than 
livin'  the  other  side  of  the  channel :  it  should  be  our  navy,  our  army, 
our  nation.  That's  a  great  word ;  but  the  English  keep  it  to  them- 
selves, and  colonists  have  no  nationality :  they  are  like  our  free  nig- 
gers ;  they  are  emancipated,  but  they  hante  the  same  social  position 
as  the  whites.  The  fetters  are  off,  but  the  caste,  as  they  call  it  to 
India,  still  remains.  Colonists  are  thr  pariahs  vf  the  Empire. 
They  have  no  place,  no  station,  no  rank.  Honours  don't  reach 
them  ;  coronations  arc  blank  days  to  them  ;  no  brevets  go  across  the 
water  except  to  the  English  officers  who  are  on  foreign  service  iu 
our  colonics.  No  knighthood  is  known  there — no  stars,  no  aristoc- 
racy, no  nobility.  They  arc  a  mixed  race  j  they  have  no  blood ;  they 
are  cocktails. 

John  Bull,  you  are  a  fool;  you  haven't  even  the  sense  of  the 
Onslow  blockhead  :  he  said  he  knew  he  was  a  fool,  but  his  brother 
was  a  plaguey  sight  bigger  one,  and  he  didn't  know  it.     Blot  the 


OUR    COLONIES    AND    SAILORS, 


253 


word  colonics  out  altogether,  incorporate  'em  all  with  England,  body 
and  breeches — one  people,  one  country,  one  Parliament.  Strike  off 
half  the  Irish  Brigade,  and  give  their  seats  to  colonists,  who,  if  they 
are  "  Blue-noses,"  aint  potato-headed,  at  any  rate. 

Ah,  Stanley  !  you  are  a  young  man,  but  they  say  you're  a  chip 
of  the  old  block  :  if  so,  you  are  just  the  boy  to  go  ahead.  Now 
hoist  t4iat  flag,  make  a  party  to  rally  round  it,  and  go  in  up  to  the 
handle  on  that  ticket,  and  you'll  immortalize  yourself.  Colonists 
won't  stay  long  as  they  are :  do  you  lead  the  way  in  the  right  direc- 
tion. But  all  this  is  their  look-out,  and  not  mine.  When  it's  too 
late,  they  will  find  out  their  mistake,  or  my  name  ain't  Sam  Slick, 
that's  all. 

Jack  was  in  stature  below  the  Nova  Scotian  standard.  He  was  a 
short,  strong-built,  but  clumsy  man,  with  a  thorough  English  face — 
broad,  open  and  jolly,  but  not  over-wise.  He  had  on  a  pair  of  white 
canvas  trowsers  and  a  check  shirt,  and  carried  a  wallet  on  his  shoul- 
ders. Poor  fellow  !  sailor-like  —  the  hot  day,  and  the  hospitality  of 
the  people,  had  been  too  much  for  him,  and  he  had  been  imbibin'. 

"Tell  us  your  story.  Jack.     Sit  down  here." 

"Thank  you  kindly,  Sir;  I  hope  I  don't  intrude;  I  wouldn't 
offend  you  for  the  world.  I  come  from  a  place  called  Bristol,  Sir. 
Perhaps  you  may  have  heard  of  it.  Sir :  it's  in  England.  Well,  I 
was  one  of  the  crew  on  board  the  new  ship  '  Demerary,'  and  was 
hired  to  bring  her  down  the  river.  Well,  Sir,  what  does  they  do, 
but  cast  her  away,  afore  she  ever  got  down  ;  instead  of  having  two 
little  tugs  to  her,  one  on  each  side,  they  puts  only  one  in  front  to 
tow  her ;  and  she  swung  round,  catched  right  across,  and  stuck  fast. 
She  was  ogged  in  the  middle,  ogged  in  the  bow,  ogged  in  the  starn, 
and  ogged  all  over.  It's  a  fact.  Sir,  I  assure  you;  not  a  word  of  a 
lie  in  it.  It's  not  likely  you  ever  heard  of  her.  Sir,  livin'  out  in  '  our 
colonies;'  but  you  may  ax  any  one  that  do  know,  Sir,  and  they'll 
tell  you  it's  a  true  story,  that." 

f^  Do  you  smoke,  Jack  ?"  sais  I ;  "  because,  if  you  do,  smoke 
away.     I  like  to  sec  a  man  enjoy  his  pipe." 

"  Thank  you  kindly.  Sir." 

While  he  was  lightin'  his  pipe,  I  couldn't  help  thinkin*  that  this 
country  and  its  farm-houses  resemble  each  other  amazinly  in  one  par- 
ticular. Every  sizeable  house  has  a  room  in  it  that  aint  used ;  not 
that  it's  a  bad  room,  its  often  as  good  as  any  other,  if  it  aint  the 
best.  It  aint  that  they  can't  furnish  it,  for  they  could  do  it  easily. 
Y;)u  can't  give  any  reason  for  it,  but  so  it  is.  Well,  this  is  the  lum- 
ber-room. Odds  and  ends  are  shoved  in  there ;  things  that's  good 
enough,  but  aint  wanted ;  things  that's  broke,  and  sot  away  to  bo 
mended,  or  that's  broke  so  bad,  they'd  only*do  to  mend  others  with; 
things  that  aint  fit  for  their  original  use,  but  will  some  day  answer 


•      % 


HI 

if 
I  f  [ 


254 


OUR  COLONIES  AND  SAILORS, 


capitally  for  somcthin'  they  weren't  intended  for;  not  worth. much  as 
a  heap,  but  a  very  cotiveniont  heap  of  lumber  to  have. 

Well,  now,  every  county  has  a  nice  little  harbour,  or  big  harbour, 
as  the  case  may  be ;  but  it  is  one  that  aint  used,  and  the  village 
there  don't  grow :  nobody  can  tell  why,  it's  as  good  as  otiiers,  and 
better  than  many  that  have  large  thrivin'  towns ;  but  so  it  is.  And 
here  are  odds  and  ends  of  people  stowed  away.  There  don't  appear 
to  be  no  place  for  'em ;  but  they  will  answer,  if  opportunity  occurs. 
Critters  not  fitted  for  their  original  business,  but  that  will  do  capi- 
tally  some  day  or  another  for  somethin'  else.  If  they  aint  fit  to  go 
alone,  they  are  just  what's  wanted  to  yoke  with  one  another.  Many 
of  them  people  you  don't  expect  to  find  in  such  a  place,  and  so  on 
Jack  is  one  of  these  sort  of  folks :  he  is  an  able-bodied  seaman,  not 
fitted  for  the  fisheries,  but  will  do  famously  on  board  of  a  large 
ship. 

"  Go  on,  Jack." 

"Well  then.  Sir,  I  was  sent  out  with  a  crew  to  Prince  Edward's 
Island,  to  fetch  home  a  new  ship  just  built  there,  loaded  with  deals. 
P'raps  you  may  have  heard  of  that  place,  Sir  ?  it's  one  of  *  our  colo- 
nies.' Well,  Sir,  we  set  sail,  and  wo  was  caught  in  an  awful  gale 
near  St.  Paul's  Island,  Sir,  on  the  north  end  of  Cape  Breton  —  I 
don't  suppose  you  ever  heard  of  that  place,  it's  another  of  '  our  colo- 
nies'— and  we  was  wracked  there.  Two  men  was  drowned  a-gettin' 
on  shore — fact,  Sir,  I  assure  you ;  not  a  word  of  a  lie  in  it — and  the 
Captain  and  I  was  the  last  to  leave,  and  wo  landed  safe,  I  only 
saved.  Sir,  what  I've  got  on,  and  what's  in  this  little  pack;  and  all 
I  have  in  my  pocket  is  three  shillings.  No,  I  haven't,  I  tell  a  lie,  I 
have  only  two  shillings  and  sixpence ;  for  I  stood  treat  to  a  Dutch- 
man, just  as  I  left  the  tavern  there,  of  a  glass  apiece;  and  what  do 
you  think  he  did.  Sir? — I'm  blamed  if  he  didn't  call  me  a  donkey, 
Sir!  Fact,  I  assure  you.  Sir;  not  a  word  of  a  lie  in  it.  Oh,  no! 
I'm  not  that  sort  of  a  man  at  all.  Sais  I,  '  Friend,'  handin*  him 
the  glass,  here's  luck  !' 

"  '  Well,'  sais  he,  '  donkey.'    . 

"  Sais  I,  '  Friend,  I  hope  thei-e's  no  offence.  I  would'nt  oifend 
you  for  the  world;'  and  I  slipped  oif  my  wallet,  and  laid  it  down, 
and  squared  ofi".  Sais  I,  '  P'raps  you'll  make  good  your  words.  If 
J  am  a  donkey,  I'm  an  English  one,  at  any  rate  !' 

"'Well,'  said  the  skipper  of  the  house,  'avast  haulin'  there! 
donkey,  is  .Dutch  for  I  thank  you.' 

"  Oh  !'  sais  I, '  I  ax  pardon ;  that  alters  the  case.  But  why  didn't 
he  speak  English  V 

"  So  I  took  up  my  pack,  and  walked  on.  But  they  do  speak 
dreadful  lingo  in  'our  colonies,'  don't  they.  Sir?  Did  you  ever  hear 
Garlic,  Sir  !  Oh,  Sir  !  when  I  was  wracked  at  Cape  North,  they  all 
tfpoke  Garlic !     I  must  tell  you  about  that.     I  hope  I  don't  intrude, 


f  I . 


'■-}. 


OUR    COLONIES    AND    SAILORS. 


256 


th.much  as 

ijr  harbour, 
the  villajje 
r>thcrs,  and. 
it  is.  Aiul 
")n't  appear 
[lity  occurs, 
rill  do  capi- 
at fit  to  go 
iier.  Many 
,  and  so  on 
seaman,  not 
of  a  large 


je  Edward's 

with  deals. 

)f '  o?»'  cofo- 

awful  gale 

Breton — I 

if  '  our  cola- 

icd  a-gcttin' 

I  it — and  the 

b.     I  only 

;  and  uU 

tell  a  lie,  I 

a  Putch- 

d  what  do 

a  donkey, 

Oh,  no ! 

andin'  him 


d'nt  offend 
d  it  down, 
words.     If 

lin'  there! 

why  didn't 

do  speak 

ever  hear 

:h,  they  all 

I't  intrude, 


Sir,  and  mako  too  free?  I  wouldn't  offend  you.  Sir,  for  the  world. 
Well,  Sir,  when  Captain  and  me  got  ashore,  sais  I,  *  which  course 
shall  we  steer.  Sir?' 

"  '  Any  course  you  like,'  said  he.    *  The  voyage  is  come  to  an  end.' 
"  *  Well  then,'  said  I,  '  I'll  steer  to  our  British  Council,  and  he'll 
take  care  of  me,  and  find  me  a  passage  home,' 

"  '  There  is  no  Council  here,'  said  he.     '  You  are  in  one  of  *  our 
own  colonics'  now.' 

"  *  Well,'  sais  I,  *  will  the  authorities  do  it  ?' 
"  No,'  sais  ho,  '  you  must  fish  for  yourself,'  and  he  gave  me  some 
money,  and  we  parted.  Oh,  Sir  !"  said  Jack,  seriously,  "  if  you  go  to 
sea,  pray  the  Lord  to  cast  you  away  anywhere  it  do  seem  good  to  Him, 
80  long  as  it  tante  in  '  one  of  our  colonics.'  Everywhere  else  a  poor 
sailor  is  taken  care  off,  and  sent  home  (they  must  do  it  do  you  see, 
for  it's  English  law) ;  but  in  'our  colonics,'  they  say  you're  at  home 
already,  though  how  they  make  out  Cape  North  is  liristol,  I  don't 
know.  I  was  wracked  once  at  Tangiers.  Well  the  Council  be- 
haved handsome  to  us.  He  was  a  fine  gentleman,  that.  He  paid 
our  bills  until  a  vessel  offered  for  England  j  but  that  is  a  Christian 
country. 

"  Another  tinie  I  was  east  away  at  ]\Ionty  Viddy.  We"  went 
ashore  in  awful  weather,  and  the  Council  did  the  same  thing.  Oh, 
Sir,  steer  clear  of  '  our  colonics,'  give  them  a  wide  berth  whatever 
you  do,  as  they  are  the  worst  places  in  the  world  to  be  wracked  in. 
'Well,  sais  I,  'if  there  is  no  Council  to  look  out  for  I,  the  Lord 
will,  until  He  gctteth  me  a  passage ;'  so  I  took  the  first  road  I  saw, 
and  foUered  it,  for  I  knew,  in  course,  Sir,  a  road  must  lead  some- 
where. 

'*  Well,  it  was  almost  dark  when  I  comes  to  a  house,  and  I  knocked 
at  the  door,  and  I  heard  a  ooman  say  someut,  but  I  couldn't  mako 
it  out;  so  I  lifts  the  latch,  and  walks  in.  Well,  there  was  seven 
women  there ;  six  of  them  had  spinnin'-whcels,  and  the  old  un  was 
cook  in  gk  at  the  fire. 

" '  Mother,'  sais  I,  '  I  hope  I  don't  intrude.  I  wouldn't  offend 
you  for  the  world;  but,  do  you  see,  I've  been  sliipwracked  hard  by 
iiere.     Could  you  give  a  poor  sailor  a  mouthful  of  sumat  to  cat  ?' 

"  But  she  answered  me  in  Garlic,  so  I  was  told  arterwards,  for  I 
never  heard  it  afore.  It  warn't  French,  or  Portuguese,  or  Spanish, 
I  know,  for  I  had  heard  them  folks  talk ;  but  it  was  Grarlic.  Well, 
the  girls  all  stopt,  took  a  look  at  nie,  and  then  they  began  to  jabber 
away  in  Garlic  too.  Well,  the  old  o,)i)ian  put  a  chair  for  me,  and 
made  signs  for  me  to  take  oft"  my  pack,  and  then  she  took  a  great 
long  iron  bar,  and  lifted  off  the  cover  of  a  bake-pan  that  had  four  or 
live  fowls  in  it,  and  put  in  a  lump  of  butter  as  big  as  my  fists,  and 
shut  it  up  again,  and  covered  it  all  over  with  live  coals.  Oh  !  the 
euicU  made  me  very  hungry.     Says  I,  '  Mother,  that  smells  nice/ 


1 


M 


256 


OUR    COLONIES    AND     SAIL0R8. 


,% 


t: 


But  she  larfcd,  and  shook  her  head.  "Well,  I  turned  t^  the  galls, 
gais  I,  *  Can't  any  of  you  speak  English  ?'  But  they  all  answered 
at  onct  in  Garlic,  and  what  they  said  I  couldn't  tell.  So  I  gets  up, 
and  I  docs  this.  I  puts  up  my  right  hand  this  way,  as  if  I  was 
holdin'  of  a  bottle  by  the  neck,  and  holds  up  the  other  as  if  it  had 
a  glass  in  it,  and  then  pretended  to  pour  out  slow,  put  it  up  to  my 
mouth,  tossed  it  off,  and  smacked  my  lips.  Says  I,  '  Mother,  that's 
English  for  a  glass  of  rum.'  Oh  !  how  they  all  larfcd  !  They  all 
knew  what  T  meant,  in  course,  and  the  old  ooman  took  the  hint, 
went  to  a  closet,  brought  out  a  jug  bottle,  and  a  glass,  and  sat  it 
down.     So  I  fills  it,  and  offers  it  to  her. 

" '  After  you,  Marm,'  sais  I,  makin'  a  bow.  *  I  couldn't  think 
of  takin'  it  first.' 

"  Well,  she  took  it  off,  as  if  she  knowd  it  better  than  she  did 
English  ;  and  then  I  filled  one,  and  sais  : 

"  *I  thank  you  kindly,  Marm  j  and  if  ever  you  are  cast  away,  I 
hope  it  won't  be  in  one  of  oiir  colonies,  where  there  is  no  British 
Counc]].  My  sarvice  to  you,'  and  I  made  a  scrape  of  my  hind  leg, 
and  tossed  off  the  whisky.  Capital  stuff  it  is  too,  when  you're  ship- 
wracked,  and  drenched,  and  cold. 

•^  Well,  as  I  stood  by  the  chimney,  the  whisky  within  and  the  fire 
without  fetched  the  steam  out  of  my  wet  clothes  like  a  cloud.  'Look 
here,  galls,'  says  I,  a-pointin'  to  it,  '  how  that  gets  up  the  steam.' 
And  they  larfed  like  anythin'.  They'd  soon  larn  English  if  a  feller 
had  time  to  teach  them,  don't  you  think  so.  Sir?"  and  he  haw-hawed 
as  merrily  as  if  his  troubles  were  as  light  as  his  pack. 

"  Just  then.  Sir,  in  comes  a  critter  that  was  dressed  like  a  man 
about  the  upper  part  of  its  body  and  arms,  and  like  a  woman  about 
its  lower  half,  havin'  a  jacket  above  and  a  short  petticoat  below.  But 
it  had  a  beard  and  a  pair  of  yaller  hairy  legs,  it  was  rigged  like  a 
hemophrodite  brig,  but  it  called  itself  *  her,'  it  spoke  a  little  broken 
English,  but  understood  all  I  said,  and  it  put  it  into  Garlic  for  them, 
and  it  stopped  their  laughin',  for  they  said  '  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !'  and  the 
old  oonan  threw  up  both  hands,  and  the  galls  looked  as  if  it  would 
not  take  much  to  make  'em  take  pity  on  me  and  larn  me  Garlic.  I 
could  see  by  the  way  the  strange  critter  went  about  the  house  and 
ordered  things,  that  he  was  the  old  oonan's  fancy  man.  Trowsers 
was  scarce  there,  I  suppose,  and  that's  the  reason  he  wore  a  petti- 
coat, seein'  that  there  arc  no  tailors  in  those  woods. 

"  Well,  the  spinnin'-wheels  was  set  a  one  side,  and  the  table  set 
out,  and  we  had  a  royal  meal,  and  arterwards  I  made  a  motion  like 
dancin',  and  the  old  boy  gets  out  a  fiddle,  and  we  had  a  merry  night 
of  it. 

"Well,  at  last  clothes  was  brought  out,  and  four  of  the  galls 
turned  in  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  The  other  two  slept  with  the 
pld  ooman,  in  a  little  berth  off,  and  the  master  mounted  guard  oveT 


OUR  COLONIES  AND  SAILORS. 


257 


the  gulls, 

answered 

I  gets  up, 

s  if  I  was 

3  if  it  had 

;  up  to  my 

her,  that's 

They  all 

the  hint, 

and  sat  it 

dn't  think 

m  she  did 

ist  away,  I 
no  British 
y  hind  leg, 
you're  ship- 

and  the  fire 

»ud.    *  Look 

the  steam.' 

1  if  a  feller 

law-hawed 

ike  a  man 
Dm  an  about 
elow.    But 
ged  like  a 
itle  broken 
ic  for  them, 
and  the 
if  it  would 
Garlic.    I 
house  and 
Trowsers 
ore  a  petti- 
table  set 
motion  like 
erry  night 

f  the  galls 

pt  with  the 

guard  over 


sno,  while  I  took«a  stretch  for  it  on  the  hearth.  Fact,  I  assure  you, 
Sir,  not  a  word  of  a  lie  in  it.  Oh,  no !  I'm  not  that  sort  of  a  man 
at  all.  Sir.  Well,  in  the  mornin'  four  of  the  galls  mounted  their 
wheels  on  their  shoulders,  and  I  found  from  master's  broken  English 
I  was  to  go  with  tJieni ;  so  I  slung  my  pack  on,  and  takes  up  my 
hat,  and  I  puts  my  hand  in  my  pocket  and  pulls  out  some  silver. 

*  Thank  you  kindly.  Sir,'  said  I,  '  but  I  can  afford  to  pay  my  way,' 
and  holdin'  out  my  upen  hand,  says  I,  *  will  you  just  take  whutever 
your  charge  is,  Sir?" 

"  Well,  he  got  in  a  dreadful  passion.  He  clapt  both  his  hands 
behind  him,  cocked  out  his  chin,  and  let  go  Garlic  like  a  steam- 
engine  ;  and  his  wife  got  red  in  the  face,  and  scolded  like  any  thin'. 
*Na-ah,  na-ah,  na-ah,'  says  they. 

"  Well,  I  puts  the  silver  back.  Sais  I,  '  I  beg  your  pardon,  I 
didn't  mean  to  intrude,  I  wouldn't  offend  you  for  the  world.'  And 
I  bowed  and  scraped,  and  then  held  out  my  empty  fin,  and  shook 
hands  with  them  both ;  and  the  old  ooman  spoke  some  kind  words  I 
know,  for  though  it  was  Garlic  it  sounded  soft,  as  much  as  to  say, 

*  Safe  homo  to  you,  remember  rac  to  your  mother.' 

"  Well,  we  took  up  marchin'  order — the  galls  first  in  course,  then 
Morphrodite  Brig,  then  me;  but  as  I  got  to  the  door,  I  turned  and 
made  the  motion  of  the  bottle  to  the  old  ooman,  and  she  called  back 
her  husband  and  brought  it  out,  and  he  filled  a  glass,  made  a  speech, 
and  down  with  it.  Then  he  poured  out  one  for  me,  and  I  just  dropt 
one  knee  down,  and  handed  it  to  the  old  lady.  '  Couldn't  think  of 
it,  Marm,*  snid  I,  *  afore  you,'  arid  she  tossed  it  oflf  without  winkin', 
and  looked  rael  pleased.  And  then  my  turn  came,  and  after  a  volley 
of  thanks,  down  it  went,  when  he  filled  it  again. 

"Well,  thinks  I,  I  ain't  proud,  and  though  you  wouldn't  touch 
my  silver,  I  won't  go  get  mad.  I'll  just  set  you  a  better  example, 
and  that  drop  followed  the  other,  and  I  felt  good.  Sais  I,  '  They 
ought  to  make  you  British  CouncW  here,  for  you're  the  only  one  can 
talk  English,  pays  all  the  bill,  and  shows  the  road  home.  If  I  see 
the  Governor,  I'll  make  so  bold  as  to  tell  him  so.' 

"  Well,  his  wife  wanted  to  know  what  pleased  him  so  much,  and 
he  told  her;  and  we  shook  hands  agm'n,  and  parted.  When  we  got 
to  the  gate,  Mophrodite  Brig  came  to  an  anchor,  pointed  up  the  road, 
and  then,  pointed  oflF  to  the  right,  as  if  direotin'  them ;  and  me,  and 
the  four  galls,  and  four  gpinnin'-wheels,  took  a  fresh  departure,  and 
steered  eastward.  Very  kind  people,  them;  I  shall  never  forget 
them,  though  they  were  .Garlic.  Well,  the  galls  had  all  the  talk  to 
themselves,  and  it  was  dull  music.  I  tried  'em  all,  but  it  was  no  go; 
H  was  all  Garlic.  Well,  in  course  t  convoyed  the  last  of  the  fleet, 
though  she  could  sail  as  fast  as  any  of  'cm,  and  she  began  to  lam 
Knglish  fast;  she  only  wanted  a  littfe  trainin'. 

^^ '  Let  me  carry  your  wheel  for  you,  dear,'  sais  I,  and  I  held  ou4 
22  * 


258 


OUR  COLONIES  AND  SAILORS 


.\ 


my  hands  for  it.  Ton  my  word,  sbe  understood  fvery  word  of  that, 
and  gave  mo  the  wheel  to  sling  over  my  shoulder;  then  she  went  up 
to  the  otiiers,  and  pointed  to  me  and  the  wheel,  and  they  stopt,  put 
down  their  wheels,  and  nearly  killed  themselves  a  laughiu'. 

"  Well,  arter  awhile  I  sec  the  galls  ready  for  makin'  sail  again, 
and  I  just  passed  my  right  arm  round  the  waist  of  ray  littlo  Garlic 
friend,  and  lifted  her  up  off  the  ground,  and  marched  on.  She- 
laughed,  and  struggled,  and  kicked  out  like  a  haddock  that  is  just 
hooked ;  and  the  other  galls  enjoyed  it  first-rate. 

"  Arter  awhile  I  stopt,  put  out  my  lips,  and  bent  my  head  towards 
her,  and  told  her  that  was  English  for  a  kiss ;  but  she  put  up  her 
hands  to  push  my  head  back ;  she  didn't  ondcrstand  it. 

"  Well,  arter  a  little  while  I  stopped  and  tried  it  again.  It  seemed 
then  as  if  she  had  some  idea  what  I  meant,  but  warn't  sure ;  but  the 
third  time  she  held  still,  and  I  gave  her  an  English  kiss,  and  she 
gave  me  one  in  Garlic  in  return,  and  I  sot  her  down.  Oh !  that 
y^vtW  was  very  quick  at  larnin',  and  she  looked  as  if  it  was  the  same 
in  both  languages,  only  it  sounded  different  in  Garlic. 

"Well,  Sir,  it  was  pretty  much  the  same  travellin'  next  day,  only 
I  hadn't  ibo  galls  no  longer,  and  here  and  there  there  was  a  little 
more  English.  At  last  I  came  to  the  great  Bras  d'Or  Lake,  and 
got  a  cast  in  a  boat  to  the  other  side;  and,  what  do  you  think?  — 
upon  my  honour  it's  a  fact.  Sir  —  not  a  word  of  a  lie  in  it  —  the 
peoj)Ie  ivcre  all  French  !  thick  as  hops.  A  great  big  chapel,  with  a 
cross  on  it  as  large  as  the  foretopsai  1-yard  of  a  seventy-four.  The 
first  fell6w  I  met  had  shoes  on  like  a  leather  mitten,  a  droll-lookin' 
little  man  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth. 

"  *  Hullo  1  shipmate,'  says  I,  '  where  does  the  British  CommX 
live?' 

"  He  shook  his  head  and  walked  on,  and  said  nothin'. 

"  '  Yott  miserable,  yaller-skinned  French  rascal!*  said  I,  'if  you 
don't  give  me  a  civil  answer  I'll  horse  you  up  over  the  first  man's 
back  I  meet,  and  flog  you  like  a  school-boy  !  —  for  it  would  take  six 
such  fellers  as  you  to  make  a  man  ! ' 

"  He  understood  all  I  said ;  for  he  stopped  and  swore  broken 
English  at  me,  and  called  me  cvcrythin'  you  can  think.  Well,  I 
gave  chase  out  of  fun ;  and  the  way  he  ran  to  the  house,  and  yelped 
like  a  dog  that  is  hit  with  a  stone,  was  as  good  as  a  play !  ^Vcll,  I 
roared  out  a-larfin',  and  turned  and  got  into  the  road  again.  Well,  I 
asked  two  or  three,  and  they  spoke  very  civil,  but  very  broken,  and 
said  they  didn't  know  what  I  meant.  At  last,  I  met  a  man  travel- 
lin' in  a  i)ice  phcc-a-ton,  and  axed  him. 

"  '  Oh  ! '  said  he,  '  there  is  no  Consul  here.  This  is  a  British 
province.' 

"^British  ! '  says  I;  'then  what  the  devil  are  these  French  fcl* 


OUR  OOLONIEB  AND  SAILORS, 


259 


•d  of  that, 
0  went  up 
stopt,  put 

sail  again, 

;tlo  Garlic 

on.     She- 

at  is  juBt 

id  towards 
ut  up  her 

It  seemed 
! ;  but  the 
s,  and  she 

Oh!  that 
3  the  same 

day,  only 
svas  a  little 
Lake,  and 
think?  — 
in  it  —  the 
Del,  with  a 
bur.  The 
roll-lookin' 

(7ow7icil 


,  <  if  you 
first  man's 
1  take  six 

re  broken 
Well,  I 
lind  yelped 
Well,  I 
Well,  I 
oken,  and 
lan  travcl- 

a  British 

i'rcnch  fel* 


lows  doin'  hero,  if  it's  one  of  our  colonics  f    Why  don't  they  clear 
them  out  ? ' 

"'They  arc  descended  from  those  who  were  here  when  wc  con- 
quered it,'  says  he;  'they're  British  subjects.' 

"  If  they  uTe,'  said  I,  '  they  ought  to  Lo  made  to  speak  English. 
And  if  I  might  bo  so  bold.  Sir  —  I  wouldn't  oiFend  you  for  the 
world — but  who  are  them  outlandish  people  up  nt  Cape  North  ?  I'm 
blowed  if  it  aint  worth  while  to  call  this  od(;  of  our  colonies^  when 
you're  the  only  man  in  three  days  journey  can  speak  good  English  V 

a  i  Why,'  says  he,  '  those  people  speak  Garlic,  and  are  High- 
landers.' 

"  '  Highlanders  !  Oh  yes !  to  be  sure,'  says  I,  *  I  ought  to  havo 
known  that.  But  I  never  knew  that  they  didn't  speak  English,  and 
that  their  language  was  Garlic.  They  are  the  same  as  wo  are  — 
like  IS  two  peas  —  only  they  don't  act  alike,  dress  alike,  talk  alike, 
or  look  alike.  I  thought  tho'  that  little  spinnin'-wheel  kissed  just 
like  one  of  our  English  galls  do  ! ' 

'*' Jack,'  says  he,  'you're  a  merry  fellow.  Nobody  would  think 
you  had  only  just  escaped  With  your  life  from  a  shipwreck  !  Here's 
a  dollar  for  you.  Work  you,r  way  on  board  of  some  of  those  vessels 
at  St.  Peter's  to  Halifax,  and  the  merchants  there  will  tell  you  what 
to  do.     Good-bye  ! ' 

"  '  Thank  you  kindly.  Sir,'  said  I.  '  But  I  hope  I'll  never  be  cast 
aw:.j  u  one  oi  our  colouies  agin,  where  there  is  no  British  CouncWf 
and  nothing  but  Garlic  and  French,' 

"  Well,  Sir,  the  first  vessel  I  saw  was  '  Captain  Parks,'  of  this 
place,  and  I  arrived  here  last  night,  and  here  it's  all  Dutch." 

There  was  no  mistakin'  that  man  for  an  English  sailor — jolly, 
thoughtless,  and  brave.  Bdt  I  couldn't  help  thinkin'  how  flatteriu' 
it  must  be  to  colonists,  when  such  a  feller  as  that  calls  their  country 
*^ ours,"  as  if  he  was  one  of  the  joint  owners!  And  yet  he  has  as 
much  right  to  talk  so,  as  any  member  of  Parliament  has  who  blathers 
in  tho  House  of  Commons  about  them,  as  if  he  had  made  them  his 
study  for  years,  and  yet  never  saw  them.  There's  many  a  man 
boasts  of  havin'  known  the  Duke,  who  only  saw  him  in  the  street; 
and  many  a  man  knows  all  about  the  colonies,  who  has  only  seen 
them  on  a  map.  Like  a  Colonial  Secretary,  who  ordered  all  Ameri- 
can prisoners  to  be  kept  for  safety  at  the  fortress  of  liouisburg,  which 
IkkI  been  blown  up  and  destroyed  fifty  years  before  by  English  engi- 
neers at  the  national  expense. 

The  British   Government  always  runs  to  extremes  —  it   eithei 


too  little 


holds  too  tight  a  rein  or 


takes 


tho 


governs  too  much  or 

bridle  off  altogether.  The  true  suporintcndin'  duty  is  like  that  of 
the  tamo  cliphant.  When  I  was  to  Calcutta,  I  went  up  to  Meerat 
with  a  British  officer ;  and  when  we  came  to  a  hal  tin '-station,  what 
do  you  think  we  saw  ?     An  cliphant  'n  charge  of  the  children.     Tho 


i 


r     i 


260 


OUR    COLONIES    AND    SAILORS. 


family  was  at  work  in  the  fields  at  some  distance,  and  this  grcal 
monstrous  matron  was  left  to  look  after  their  nursery.  There  was 
certain  bounds  that  the  youngsters  was  not  to  pass.  Inside  of  tlio 
limits,  they  might  amuse  themselves  as  they  liked,  and  wcr"  not 
interfered  with.  If  any  of  them  broke  limits,  the  cliphaut  took  'cm 
up  with  its  trunk  and  sot  'em  back ;  and  if  they  played  tricks  and 
tried  to  go  beyond  the  mark  often,  they  got  a  shake  to  remind  'cm 
it  wam't  safe  to  attempt  it. 

England  might  take  an .  excellent  lesson  from  the  eliphant  in 
managin'  her  refractory  children.  She  is  big  enough  and  strong 
enough  to  do  it,  and  ugly  enough  to  frighten  'em  without  hurtin' 
them. 

"  I  hope  I  don't  intrude,  Sir,"  said  Jack,  puttin'  on  his  pack  and 
preparin'  for  a  march.     "  Which  way  did  you  say  I  must  steer  ?  " 

"To  Annopolis,"  said  I,  "where  there  is  a  steamer  in  which  you 
can  work  your  way  to  St.  John.  From  that  there  arc  constant  oppor- 
tunities for  England,  and  sailors  are  in  great  rfjquefo.  Eut  you 
nmst  inquire  your  road,  or  you  may  have  to  sleep  out  all  night  in 
the  woods. 

"Oh,  Sir!"  sais  he,  "this  time  of  the  year,  to  a  man  like  me, 
who  has  paced  the  deck  at  night  in  all  weathers,  that's  no  great 
hardship." 

"  Here's  somethin'  to  help  you  on  the  way." 

"  Thank  you  kindly.  Sir.'' 

"  But  stop,"  sais  I,  "I  am  waitin'  for  a  friend  here  who  lives  ic 
ihat  house  yonder.  Hold  on  until  he  comes,  and  he  will  give  you 
your  supper  and  a  night's  lodgin'.  It's  too  late  to  take  the  road 
to-night." 

"  Thank  you.  Sir,"  said  he,  resumin'  his  seat.  "  Oh,  Sir !  a  man 
who  g03S  to  all  parts  of  the  world  sceth  strange  things  now  and  agin, 
don't  he  ?     Was  you  ever  in  New  South  Wales,  Sir  ?" 

"No,  never." 


"  Well,  perhaps  you've  heard  tell  of  it. 


It's 


another  of  ^our 


colonics.'  I  have  been  there  in  a  man  of  war ;  though,  mind  you, 
Sir,  it  warn't  judges  sent  me  there.  I'm  not  that  sort  of  a  man  at 
all.  Perhaps  you've  heard  we  send  our  convicts  to  our  'colon?/ 
there;'  and  it's  a  bounty  on  brcakin'  the  law.  Sir.  for  they  are  better 
off  there  than  at  home  —  fact,  I  assure  you  —  I  h«ve  seen  it  myself. 
A  block,  Sir,  at  one  end  of  the  fore-yard-arm,  with  i  hemp  necJa-loth 
and  a  clear  run  aft.  Sir,  would  save  a  deal  of  trouble.  No,  Sir,  I 
didn't  go  out  that  way,  but  in  Her  Majesty's  ship  tho  'Billyvuffi»u' 
(Bcllerophon).  She  was  christened  Billy,  Sir,  after  K\ng  Wii;»an\  - 
God  bless  him  !  —  who  was  a  sailor  to  the  back-bone  uk«  kv^  ^  ^ 
ruffian  to  frighten  the  Frenchmen  and  Yankees." 

*'  Easy  scared  the  Yankees,  aim.  they?  "  said  I. 

"  VVell,  Sir,  they  tight  well,  but  they  are  like  the  In* 


OUR    COLONIES    AND    SAILORS. 


261 


is  grcal 
lerc  \si\n 
3  of  tlio 
rcY^  not 
ook  'cm 
cks  and 
lind  'cm 

)hant  in 
i  strong 
t  hurtin' 


jack  and 
:eer?" 
lich  yoa 
nt  oppor- 
iVat  you 
night  in 

like  me, 
no  great 


lives  it 
give  you 
the  road 


a  man 
and  agin, 


of  ^onr 
ind  you, 
man  at 

'  colon  ij 
irc  better 
t  myself. 

ecJa'loth 

0,  Sir,  I 
lyrufB^u' 
/ii;»am  - 


1 


"How  is  that?"  sais  I;  for  there  is  nothin'  like  hearin'  what 
folks  have  to  say.  ICs  only  your  friends  and  your  enemies  that 
tell  you  of  your  faults, 

"  Well,  Sir,  if  three  Irishmen  get  hold  of  you  they  fight  like 
devils,  one  to  box  you,  and  two  to  see  fair  play,  by  joinin'  him  and 
knockin'  you  down.  And  when  the  Yankees  have  a  ship  of  heavier 
metal,  and  more  guns  than  you,  there's  no  denyin'  of  it,  they  do 
fight  like  men." 

I  drew  a  long  puif,  took  out  my  cigar,  and  spit  out  on  the  grass. 
Thinks  I,  you're  a  bigger  fool  than  I  took  you  to  be ;  but  arter  all 
you  aint  a  bit  bigger  one  than  your  countrymen  generally  are. 

"  You  sec,  Sir,  the  '  Constitution'  frigate  —  p'raps  you  may  have 
heard  of  her  ?  Well,  sue  was  a  sixty-four  in  disguise  of  a  frigate. 
She  was  like  a  razee,  Sir.  P'raps  you  may  have  heard  of  a  razee, 
though  I  don't  suppose,  living  in  ^  our  colonies^  you  ever  see  one. 
It's  a  seventy-four  cut  down,  Sir,  as  if  a  razjr  cut  off  the  upper  deck. 
They  are  powerful  vessels.  Sir,  and  sail  like  the  wind.  Our  admirals 
do  nothin'.  Sir,  but  build  vessels,  and  then  alter  them.  Some  they 
cuts  in  two  and  lengthens,  others  they  razee,  and  then  shifts  the 
masts,  first  here,  and  then  there,  alter  the  rig,  and  so  on.  It  amuses 
the  old  gentlemen,  and  costs  nothin',  for  there  is  always  plenty  of 
workmen  in  the  dockyards.  Some  they  sell  for  whalers,  because 
their  bulwarks  is  too  thick ;  others  because  their  sterns  are  too  round, 
and  some  because  they  are  too  sharp ;  and  some  they  breaks  up  to 
see  how  much  longer  they  will  last,  but  it's  all  good  for  trade. 
Well,  Sir,  the  *  Constitution'  was  like  a  razee.  The  '  Gerry-arr' 
frigate  was  no  match  for  her.  But  stop  a  bit,  if  the  *  Billy-ruffian* 
had  a  fallen  in  with  her,  she'd  a  handled  her  pretty,  I  can  tell  you." 

"But  you  was  talkin'  oi your  convicts  and  colonies,'*  sais  I. 

'•  Oh  yes,  Sir, '  said  he ;  "  there's  a  place  out  there  called  Swan 
Iliver,  Sir;  p'raps  you've  heard  of  it?  There  is  good  anchorage 
ground  among  the  islands  there.  Well,  Sir,  the  captain  gave  us 
leave  to  have  a  run  ashore,  and  we  had  the  greatest  fun  you  ever 
see,  Sir.  We  started  a  kangeroo;  p'raps  you've  heard  of  a  kan- 
geroo  ?  It's  a  razeed  giraffe.  Sir.  A  giraffe  is  all  fore-legs,  neck, 
and  head,  and  has  hardly  any  hind-legs ;  it  is  as  steep  as  the  roof 
of  a  house,  you  can't  ride  it  at  all,  you  slip  right  off  over  the  tail. 
Well,  Sir,  the  Lords  of  the  Admiralty  in  old  times  there,  afore  the 
flood,  razeed  them,  and  invented  the  kangeroos.  They  are  all  hind- 
legs,  and  scarcely  any  fore  ones  at  all;  you  can't  ride  them  either, 
the  saddle  slips  right  over  their  heads.  That's  just  the  way  they 
botches  our  ships,  Sir,  running  from  one  extreme  to  the  other 
Well,  Sir,  we  started  a  kangeroo,  and  gave  chase  to  it,  overhauled 
it,  and  captured  it,  after  a  desperate  struggle.  They  have  a  tail  like 
u  marlin'-spiko.  Sir,  only  its  blunt  at  the  end,  and  the  way  they 
Btnko  with   that  is  like  a  flail.     I  got  a  blow  from  it.  Sir,  savin' 


w 


262 


OUR    COLONIES    AND    SAILORS. 


i 

i  ; 

I 

-! 

; 


'  !  . 


.U-  1' 


i 


your  presence,  that  nearly  knocked  my  dead-lights  in.  When  we 
first  seed  it,  Sir,  it  was  sittin*  on  a  livin'  three-legged  stool,  fact.  Sir, 
I  assure  you,  not  a  word  of  a  lie  in  it,  Sir,  I  am  not  that  sort  of  a 
man  at  all,  oh  no  !  Sir.  It  sat  up  on  its  hind-legs,  and  clapped  out 
its  tail  stiff  against  the  ground,  and  that  made  a  nateral  stool,  and 
then  it  took  its  young  ones  on  its  knees  and  kissed  them,  and  opened 
a  bag  it  had  under  its  belly,  like  an  India-rubber  travellin'-bag,  and 
stowed  them  careful  away,  and  then  off  as  hard  as  it  could  jump. 
For  its  size,  perhaps,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  can  jump  with  it, 
except  it's  a  Portugese  flea.  Well,  we  overhauled  it.  Sir,  for  them 
three  passengers  stowed  away  in  the  hold  was  too  much  for  it. 

"  <  Well,'  sais  Bill  Hodgens,  who  was  full  of  the  devil,  Sir,  savin' 
your  presence  !  says  Bill,  '  boys,  let's  give  it  a  chance  for  its  life.' 

"Well,  we  looked  round,  and  there  was  a  black  swan  in  the  river 
—  black  as  ink.  Sir ;  fact,  I  assure  you  ;  not  a  word  of  a  lie  in  it. 
I  never  see  one  before  or  since.  Well,  Sir,  we  off  clothes,  and  intc 
the  water  arter  it;  and  at  last,  we  tired  it  out,  and  caught  it." 

"  You  ought  to  have  taken  that  black  nigger  swan  to  England,'' 
sais  I,  "  to  preach  up  the  'mancipation  of  their  white  brother  swans, 
that  are  held  in  slavery  there." 

"  AVhat's  that  ?  "  said  he.     <'  I  don't  understand." 

"Nothin',"  saisl.     "Goon." 

"Well,  Sir,  what  do  you  think  we  did?  Says  Bill  Hodgens, 
*  Let's  belay  the  swan  on  to  the  kangaroo,  with  a  slack  of  a  fathom 
of  rope,  and  let  them  run  for  it.' 

"  No  sooner  said  than  done.  Sir.  Away  went  the  kangaroo,  with 
the  swan  a  towin'  of  it,  like  a  tug-steamer.  When  they  went  down 
hill,  over  went  kangaroo,  heels  over  head,  ever  so  often ;  its  fore 
legs  was  too  short.  On  the  plain,  it  went  like  the  wind ;  and  up-hill 
the  swan  pulled  like  an  engine ;  and  that  was  the  last  that  we  s;nv 
of  them.  Fact,  I  assure  you,  Sir ;  not  a  word  of  a  lie  in  it.  Oh  ! 
no,  Sir  •,  I'm  not  that  sort  of  a  man  at  all.  Sir." 

"Here's  the  boat/'  I  said;  and  I  rose  up,  and  went  to  the 
beach, 

"Throw  us  the  painter.  Captain,"  said  Jack;  and  as  soon  as  he 
caught  it,  he  said,  "  Hold  on.  Sir;"  and  pullin'  it  over  his  shoulder, 
he  drew  the  boat  up  on  the  beach.  "  Where  shall  I  belay  it,  Sir?" 
said  he. 

"  Fasten  this  killock  to  it,"  which  he  threw  to  him  with  as  much 
ease  as  a  biscuit,  "and  stick  it  in  the  sand,"  said  my  friend. 

"How  are  you.  Goose?"  said  I.  "I  have  been  waitin'  hera 
some  time  for  you." 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Sir,"  said  Jack  ;  "  but  were  you  ever  in  Bo' 
tavia?" 

"No,"  said  Goose,  lookin'  puzzled. 


\hr 


A    PICNIC    AT    LA    HAIVE. 


263 


lir,  savin' 
ts  life' 

the  river 
L  lie  in  it. 
,  and  intc 
it." 

Sngland/' 
ler  swans, 


"  Because,  liearin'  your  name  Goose,  reminds  me  the  Dutch  Go- 
vernor's name  was  Goose  Van  Dam." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Goose. 

''  Fact,  I  assure  you.  Sir.  I  saw  him  come  on  board  our  ship,  the 
'  Billyruffian.'  His  Mightiness  Goose  Van  Dam  —  p'raps  you've 
heard  of  him — he  was  a  Dutchman,  Sir  j  though  why  they  call  them 
Dutchmen,  when  they  come  from  Holland,  I  don't  know." 

This  was  one  of  those  remarkable  coincidences  in  life,  that  some- 
times happen ;  which,  if  inserted  in  a  book,  would  be  said  to  be  too 
improbable  to  believe.     He  was  rewarded  by  a  hearty  welcome. 
*     "  Jack,  was  there  a  Coumul  there  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Indeed,  there  was,  Sir.  I'd  a  thousand  times  rather  be  ship- 
wrecked  there,  than  out  here  in  one  of '  Out'  Colonics. 


)  )f 


GIIAPTER  XXVI. 


A    PICNIC    AT    LA    HAIVE, 


Hodgens, 
a  fathom 

larco,  with 

ent  down 

its  fore 

Ind  up-hill 

lat  we  sftw 

it.     Oh! 

it  to  the 

[ton  as  he 
I  shoulder, 
it.  Sir?" 


Early  the  followin'  mornin'  I  was  summoned  by  the  pilot  to  go 
on  board,  as  the  wind  was  favourable  for  La  Halve.  Almost  the 
first  person  I  saw  was  poor  Jack.  Kecollcctiti'  that  the  nearest  road 
to  Annapolis  was  from  that  place,  and  not  from  Petite  Riviere,  I 
gave  him  a  cast  there  on  board  the  'Black  Hawk,'  and  this  saved 
him  a  walk  of  seven  or  eight  miles. 

La  Halve  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  rivers  in  this  country, 
extendin'  from  the  Atlantic  nearly  across  the  provitice  into  the 
county  of  Annapolis,  inhabited  on  either  side  by  a  hardy  and  thrivin' 
population.  At  its  entrance  are  several  extensive  and  valuable 
islands,  forniin'  admirable  shelters  for  vessels  of  the  largest  class. 
Tradition  says  that  in  old  times  they  were  the  resort  of  pirates,  and 
dreamers  have  rtill  visions  of  buried  treasures  and  hidden  caskets  of 
Spanish  gold. 

The  real  riches,  however,  are  in  the  deep,  and  the  fisheries  yield 
them  with  less  labour  and  risk.  As  we  rounded  the  point  that 
opens  a  view  of  the  river,  I  was  glad  to  observe  a  very  large  collec- 
tion of  persons  of  both  sexes  in  holiday  attire,  assembled  apparently 
for  some  festive  occasion.  This  part  of  the  harbour  had  evidently 
been  selected  for  the  convenience  of  those  who  dwelt  on  the  adjacent 
shore  as  well  as  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  the  green  in  front  of 
the  small  cluster  of  houses  was  covered  with  uumerous  little  family 
groups. 


ft 

Wif 

■  ! 

'.'' 

|; 

'r           '   ■  ■■ 

I! 

?<■■' 

f 

I 

1        i 

1 

. 

is 

SH 

^ 

w 

■  s 

1 

A     I. 


\ 


2C)4 


A    PICNIC    AT    LA    IIAIVE 


It  is  impossible  in  rainglin'  with  the  people  nf  this  coast,  who  aro 
descended  from  the  Germans  and  loyalists,  and  have  by  intermar- 
riage founded,  as  it  were,  a  new  stock  of  the  iiuman  family,  not  to 
be  struck  with  their  personal  appearance.  The  men  arc  the  iSncst 
specimens  of  the  Nova  Scotian  race,  and  the  women  arc  singularly 
handsome.  This  remark  is  applicable  to  the  whole  population  of 
the  southern  shore,  includin*  Lunenberg  and  Chester  j  at  the  latter 
place  the  females  are  not  to  be  surpassed  in  beauty  by  those  of  any 
part  of  the  world  that  I  have,  ever  seen.  Even  Jack  said  ''  We 
have  handsome  galls  in  our  colonies,  Sir,  their  eyes  are  enough  to 
make  you  wink." 

After  saunterin'  a  little  about  among  the  crowd,  I  entered  a  small 
tavern  to  light  my  cigar,  and  took  a  seat  at  the  window  to  regard 
this  movin'  scene.  If  there  is  a  thing  I  like,  it  is  to  see  folks  cn- 
joyin'  themselves.  In  all  ages  there  have  been  fea.sts  as  well  as 
fasts  in  the  world,  and  we  wouldn't  have  had  so  many  senses,  and  so 
much  relish  for  pleasure  if  it  was  wrong  to  apply  them  to  their  iiat- 
eral  uses.  If  the  duty  of  life  was  to  call  out  "  Woe,  woe,"  over- 
lastinly,  I  guess  that  duty  wouldn't  have  been  rendered  so  hard  by  a 
critter  bcin'  endowed  with  laughin'  faculties.  Birds  sing,  colts  race. 
fish  leap,  lambs  sport,  dogs  give  up  barkin'  and  play  roley  polcy  oa 
.  the  grass,  and  even  calves  twist  up  their  tails  like  a  slip  noose,  and 
kick  up  their  heels  while  they  can,  afore  they  get  too  stiff.  Wli} 
shouldn't  we  do  so  too  ? 

If  the  lily  of  the  field  has  a  beautiful  white  dress  on,  though  there 
is  nothin'  in  the  quiet  vallc}'  where  she  lives  to  admire  it  but  the 
bullfrog,  wdiy  shouldn't  a  gall  in  the  lone  settlement  wear  one  too 
though  there  is  so  few  to  see  it  ?  And  if  that  ugly  old  maid,  the 
sunflower,  can  hang  its  head  and  coquette  with  its  great  black  eye 
and  yellow  lashes  while  it  follows  the  sun,  who  is  so  high  above  it, 
and  does  no  more  than  smile  graciously  on  it,  why  shouldn't  one  of 
these  handsome  galls  look  up  admirin'  to  me  too,  as  much  as  to  say 
"  I  don't  mind  if  you  aint  a  fancy  man,  for  I  have  good  looks  enough 
for  both  of  us."  And  if  the  doves  bill  and  coo  and  are  happy,  why 
shouldn't  we  fall  in  love  and  have  mates  too  ?  Oh  !  but  it  is  a  sin  tc 
dance,  and  a  sin  to  sing,  and  a  sin  to  go  to  concerts,  and  a  sin  tc 
joke,  and  a  sin  so  wear  tine  clothes,  and  there  is  a  sin  in  everythia'. 

Do  you  know  the  reason,  you  pious  old  sinner  ?  Well,  I'll  tell 
you.  You  see  a  sin  in  all  these  things,  because  your  own  heart  is 
full  of  sin.  Your  conscience  squints,  it  looks  two  ways  at  oucc. 
You  pretend  to  see  harm  one  way  where  it  aint,  and  yell  as  if  you 
was  a-goin  to  be  stung  by  a  snake ;  but  the  other  eye  sees  it  in  air- 
nest,  in  a  sly  corner,  and  you  don't  say  a  word,  mum's  the  order  of 
the  day  then.  Lookiii,'  the  loronj  icay  imts  people  on  the  icrowj 
scent  Oh!  there  h  nothin'  like  a  yquiafin'  romfciencc,  you  maij 
depend      What  do  you  lay  up  money  for,  if  you  don't  want  none 


% 
t 

I 

k 

if.- 
a. 


A    PICNIC    AT    LA    HAIVE. 


265 


¥■ 


I,  who  aro 
iutonuar- 
ly,  not  to 
the  finest 
singularly 
ilation  of 
the  latter  | 
ise  of  any  | 
aid  "We  | 
enough  to      | 

3(1  a  small  I 

to  regard  | 

fblks  en-  | 

as  well  as  | 

30S,  and  so  | 

'  their  nat-  | 

roc,"  over-  f 

hard  by  a  f ,. 

colts  racC;  f; 

y  polcy  00  I 

noose,  anc'  f 

iff:     Wh}  I 

)ugh  there     I 

it  but  the     I; 

ir  one  too 

maid,  the 

black  eye 

above  it, 

n't  one  of 

1  as  to  say 

ks  enougli 

appy,  why 

is  a  sin  tc 

d  a  sin  tc 

jverytbin'. 

1,  rU  tell 

n  heart  is 

at  once. 

as  if  you 
s  it  in  air- 
e  order  of 
the  icroufj 

you  ma  I) 
pant  none 


m 


of  these  things  ?  Are  you  a-goin'  to  buy  snares  for  the  devil  to 
noose  your  children  with,  you  gonoy  ?  Well,  that  is  a  nice  young 
man  there,  his  hair  is  brushed  down  smooth,  his  shirt  bosom  is  as 
plain  as  a  white  board  fence.  He  don't  go  to  balls,  nor  taverns,  nor 
tandem  clubs,  nor  to  messes,  but  attends  high  teas  at  Dorcas  meet- 
ings, and  gives  tracts  to  starvin'  people  with  famishin'  children — a 
model  young  man.     Why  don't  you  let  him  marry  your  daughter? 

"My  daughter,  Louisa?" 

"Yes,  your  Louisa." 

"  What,  that  fellow  ?" 

"  Oh  !  no,  not  that  fellow,  but  that  pious  excellent  young  man." 

"  Why,  ho  is  as  mean  as  Job's  turkey,  and  as  poor  as  a  church- 
mouse,  that  has  nothin'  but  hymn-books  to  feed  on." 

"  Oh !  then  gold  is  good  ?" 

"  Good  !  to  be  sure  it  is  !     You  can't  get  on  without  it." 

"Yes  Ibut  all  the  enjoyment  that  gold  buys  is  wicked,  so  where 
is  the  good  of  it,  but  to  make  an  image  of  it  to  worship  ? 

"  You  old  sinner  the  devil  tempts  you  to  hoard  up  for  the  fun 
of  temptin'  your  children  to  squander ;  for  he  has  a  delight  in  takin' 
a  rise  out  of  such  fellows  as  you  be.  I  see  how  the  game  will  eend. 
He  will  bag  the  whole  brood  of  you  some  of  these  fine  days,  body 
and  soul.  Yes,  yes !  when  the  fox  turns  preacher,  the  geese  had 
better  not  go  to  night  meetins. 

"Yes,  enjoy  yourselves,  my  pretty  girls,  and  when  you. begin  to 
dance,  I'll  astonish  your  weak  narves  with  the  last  Paris  touch, 
won't  I,  Lucy  Kandall?" 

"  Why,  Mr.  Slick,  is  that  you  ?" 

*'  Yes,  Miss,  what's  left  of  me,  at  least."  I  always  say  that  to 
fish  for  what  I  always  get. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Slick,  I  never  saw  you  look  better  in  my  life  " 

It  sounds  good  to  an  old  bachelor  like  me,  especially  now  as  I 
want  to  persuade  myself  I  do  for  Sophy's  sake. 

"  But,  Lucy,"  sais  I,  a-whisperin'  to  her,  and  I  returned  the  com- 
pliment, for  galls  like  to  hear  it  too.  They  know  how  handsome 
tfiey  be  as  well  as  you  do,  but  they  aint  so  sure  the  men  think  so. 

"Oh,"  said  she,  "Mr.  Slick,  now  you're  a-takin'  me  off." 

And  away  she  ran,  but  not  before  she  had  promised  to  dance  the 
next  set  with  me.  Is  there  any  harm  in  that,  old  cock-your-mouth  ? 
How  did  you  court  your  wife  ?  The  whites  of  the  eyes,  when  turned 
up  the  way  you  do,  aint  very  enticin*.  You  must  have  listened  to 
the  insinivation  of  the  devil  then,  and  tried  to  look  killin',  or  courted 
as  cats  do,  by  starlight.  But  what  are  all  the  folks  lookin'  at,  starin' 
down  the  road  that  way?  Why,  as  I'm  a  livin'  sinner,  that  fellow 
is  a  show,  that's  a  facb.  He  was  a  tall  bony  man,  with  a  slight  stoop 
in  his  shoulders.  He  wore  a  Kossuth  hat  of  the  largest  kind,  orna- 
mented with  a  silver  buckle  in  front  as  big  as  a  curtain-band,  a  blue 
23 


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1 1 


m 


$ 


2661 


A    PICNIC     AT    LA     II  A  I  V  E , 


frock-coat,  lined  throughout  with  fine  black  silk  velvet,  a  satin  waist 
coat,  covered  with  gold  chains,  and  loose  white  drill  trowsers,  gatlicred 
in  at  the  waist  in  large  plaits,  and  surmounted  by  a  red  sash  ;  but 
the  most  remarkable  thing  about  him  was  his  beard,  which  extended 
nearly  to  his  waist,  lie  walked  slowly  through  the  crowd,  accosted 
people  as  familiarly  as  if  he  bad  known  them  all  his  life,  and  flou- 
rished a  large  gold-headed  cane.  His  eyes  were  small,  black,  rest- 
less, and  piercin'.  I  saw  as  he  came  near  the  house,  that  he  was  a 
Yankee,  and  I  felt  streaked  enough  I  tell  you,  for  it  is  such  fellers 
as  that,  that  lowers  our  great  nation,  and  are  taken  as  specimens  of 
Yankees,  and  not  as  exceptions.  I  drew  back  from  the  winder,  for 
I  didn't  want  him  to  see  me.  Blushin'  for  others  is  the  next  thimj 
to  takin'  a  kickin'  for  them.  It  aint  pleasant.  But  there  was  no 
escape  —  in  he  came. 

"Mr.  Slick,  I  presume?"  said  he.  "I  heerd  you  was  here,  Sir, 
and  I  called  to  pay  my  respects  to  you.  I  am  Mr.  PWnny,"  said 
he,  "  of  Springfield,  Massachusetts.  Perhaps  you  recollect  the  trip, 
we  had  down  the  Sound  in  the  steamer,  when  the  sailors,  paid  otf 
from  the  frigate  to  Bostin  harbour,  were  on  board,  and  wanted  to 
lynch  their  officers,  who  happened  to  be  there.  I  am  in  the  danger- 
type  line,"  he  said,  "  here,  and  was  a-showin'  them  my  advertise' 
ment,"  touching  his  beard,  eyein'  his  dress,  and  slyly  winkin'  at  me 
"  Will  you  be  on  board  to-night?" 

"  Yes,"  sais  I. 

"  Then  I'll  call  and  see  you  there.  I  must  return  now,  and  go  to 
work.  I  shall  make  a  good  thing  of  it  here  to-day.  Simple  people 
these.  Critters  that  can  eat  sourcrout  can  swallcr  anythin'.  Good 
mornin'.'^ 

And  he  returned  as  he  came,  followed  by  every  eye. 

"  Who  is  that  ?"  was  the  general  inquiry. 

"  The  man  who  takes  your  pictur,"  was  the  ready  answer. 

His  object  was  gained.  He  was  notorious.  His  fame  was  spread 
far  and  near.     I  was  glad  to  be  released  from  him. 

How  strange  it  is,  as  sure  as  you  aint  shaved  the  ladies  get  in  to 
see  you.  If  you  have  a  poor  dinner,  a  critter  that  is  dainty  says, 
"  I  don't  mind  if  I  go  and  take  pot-luck  with  you  to-day."  If  you 
are  among  grand  people,  a  poor  relation  dressed  in  his  poorest,  that 
has  nothin'  to  brag  of  but  you,  shoves  right  in,  and  sais,  "  Sam,  how 
are  you  ?  How  is  Sail  ?  Are  you  in  the  clock  line  yet  ?"  Or  if 
you  are  among  foreigners,  actiu'  up  to  the  character  of  our  great 
nation,  a  critter  from  down  east,  half-trapper,  half-logger,  with  a 
touch  of  the  river- rat,  dressed  like  an  ourang-outang,  whose  mother 
made  his  clothes  to  save  a  tailor's  bill,  cuts  in  and  takes  a  hand  in 
the  (nnversation,  so  as  to  make  you  feol  as  small  as  the  little  end  of 
nothin'  whittled  down  to  a  point,  while  all  the  rest  of  the  company 
are  splittin'  with  laughter  ready  to  bust.     And  shows  his  wit  by 


A     PICNIC     AT     LA     IIAIVE, 


267 


1  waist 

utlicrod 
;h  ;  but 
ttcndcd 
iccostcd 
nd  flou- 
jk,  rcst- 
e  was  ;i 
b  fellers 
mens  of 
idcr,  for 
U  thiiuj 
was  no 


,  Sir, 
"  said 


ere 

the  trip. 

paid  otf 
anted  to 
!  danger' 
idvertise- 
a'  at  me 


ind  go  to 
people 
Good 


IS  spread 

get  in  to 
ty  says, 
If  you 
■est,  that 
lam,  how 
Or  if 
ur  great 
,  with  a 
mother 
hand  in 
e  end  of 
iompany 
wit  by 


pattin'  a  pet  Spaniel  dog  of  some  gentleman  on  the  head,  and  sud- 
denly, when  he  has  coaxed  him  to  look  up,  puttin'  his  eyes  out,  anrl 
half-chokin'  him  with  a  shower  of  tobacco-juice.  "Why  don't  yon 
chaw,  doggy  ?  Well,  I  want  to  know ;"  and  then  brays  out  a  laugh 
as  loud  as  a  donkey's. 

Phinny  was  one  of  them  onexpected  drift-logs,  that  was  floatin' 
about  in  the  eddy  here,  just  where  you  didn't  want  to  sec  him.  It 
disconsartcd  me ;  so  I  strolled  up  stream,  ami  stretched  out  in  the 
grass  under  the  shade  of  some  spruces,  and  fell  into  a  musin'  fit. 
How  is  it  that  we  are  so  like  England  as  a  whole,  and  differ  so  in  parts, 
sais  I  to  myself.  Jack  is  a  sailor,  such  as  you  sec  in  England,  but 
not  in  the  States,  lilackbeard  Phinny  is  a  travcllin'  black-leg,  such 
as  you  see  in  the  States,  but  not  in  England ;  but  so  it  is,  and  it 
aint  confined  to  those  two  specimens,  lirag  in  its  way  is  common 
to  both. 

Jack  talks  of  "our  eolmu'es"  as  if  he  owned  them  all,  and  Dauger- 
type  talks  oi  "  our  <j rent  jiafi'on"  as  if  he  was  the  biggest  and  best 
part  of  it.  Now  wc  are  two  great  nations,  that's  a  fact— the  great- 
est, by  a  long  chalk,  of  any  in  the  world — speak  the  same  language, 
have  the  same  religion,  and  our  constitution  don't  differ  no  great. 
Wc  ought  to  draw  closer  than  we  do.  We  arc  big  enough,  equal 
enough,  and  strong  enough  not  to  be  jealous  of  each  other.  United 
we  are  more  nor  a  match  for  all  the  other  nations  put  together,  and 
can  defy  their  fleets,  armies,  and  millions.  Single,  we  couldn't  stand 
against  all,  and  if  one  was  to  fall,  where  would  the  other  be  ?  Mournin' 
over  the  grave  that  covers  a  relative  whose  place  can  never  be  filled. 
It  is  authors  of  silly  books,  editors  of  silly  papers,  and  demagogues 
of  silly  parties  that  help  to  estrange  us.  I  wish  there  was  a  gibbet 
high  enough  and  strong  enough  to  hang  up  all  these  enemies  of 
mankind  on. 

I  have  studied  both  nations,  and  love  them  both ;  and  after  addin' 
all  that  is  to  be  counted  on  one  side,  and  subtractin'  all  that  is  to  be 
deducted  on  the  other,  I  aint  candidly  and  fairly  sartified  which  is 
the  greatest  of  the  two  nations.  But,  on  the  whole,  I  think  we  are, 
take  it  altogether.  The  sum  may  be  stated  in  this  way  :  England 
is  great  in  wealth,  in  population,  in  larnin',  in  energy,  in  manufac- 
tories, and  in  her  possessions ;  but  then  her  weakness  is  in  her  size. 
I  knew  a  man  onct  who  was  so  tall  he  didn't  know  when  his  feet 
was  cold,  they  were  so  far  from  his  heart.  That  is  the  case  with 
England  and  her  distant  colonies.  She  don't  know  the  state  of 
feclin'  there,  and  sore  spots  are  allowed  to  mortify  until  amputation 
is  necessary.  Giants  aint  formidable  folks  in  a  general  way.  Their 
joints  are  loose,  their  bodies  are  too  heavy,  their  motions  unwieldy 
— they  knock  their  heads  agin  doors,  and  can't  stow  away  their  legs 
in  coaches  or  under  tables,  their  backs  aint  fit  for  daily  work,  and 


m 


I 


268 


A     PICNIC     AT     LA     IIAIVfi. 


light-built  fellers  can  dance  round  them,  and  insult  thcai,  withoxil 
danger  of  bein'  caught. 

Now  foreign  possessions,  like  full-grown  children,  are  expensive. 
In  time  of  peace,  colonies  help  trade ;  but  in  time  of  war,  how  ara 
they  to  be  defended  ?  There  must  he  incorporation  or  separation — 
tmited  7/ou  stand,  divided  you  fall.  Now  we  have  our  country,  aa 
father  used  to  say  of  his  farm,  all  in  a  ring-fence.  Every  climate  at 
home.  We  raise  the  northern  pine  and  the  southern  sugar-cane, 
the  potato  and  the  pine-apple,  the  grape  and  the  winter  fruit,  bear- 
skins and  cotton.  We  have  two  oceans,  and  the  coast  on  each  is 
easily  defended.  Ilivers,  lakes,  canals,  railways,  and  telegraphs 
intersect  and  connect  the  whole.  We  can  supply  ourselves  with 
everythin'  we  want — we  have  a  world  of  our  own.  John  Bull  him- 
self wouldn't  deny  this.  If  wc  aint  greater  than  England,  we  are 
as  great  J  if  we  don't  grow  faster,  we  grow  as  fast.  We  have  nothin' 
to  envy,  and  Englishmen  are  on  too  good  tarms  with  themselves  to 
envy  any  one.  Our  duty  and  our  interest  is  to  unite  as  one,  and 
humanize.  Christianize,  and  civilize  the  whole  world. 

But  I  forget  all  about  Lucy  llandall,  I  must  go  and  look  for 
her. 

"  Oh,  Lucy  !"  sais  I,  "  how  glad  I  am  to  sec  you.  When  do  you 
intend  to  stop  growin'  ?" 

•'  Me  !"  said  she.  "  Why  I  am  twenty-two  years  old,  I  have  done 
growin'  these  six  years  past.     Why,  what  a  strange  question." 

"  Growin'  handsome,"  sais  I.  "  Every  time  I  see  you  the  hand- 
somer you  grow." 

"Oh !  now,  Mr.  Slick,''  she  said,  "you  are  takin'  me  off." 

"  No,  Lucy,"  sais  I,  "  I  aint  the  lucky  man  that  is  to  take  you  off, 
it's  somebody  else." 

She  coloured  up,  and  said  hastily :  "  Who  told  you  that  V 

The  fact  is  her  own  blushes  told  me  I  hadn't  guessed  far  wrong, 
as  plain  as  any  thin'. 

"  Oh !  never  mind,"  sais  I,  "I  can  keep  a  secret;  is  it  so ?" 

"  People  say  so,"  she  said.  "  Have  you  been  married  since  you 
was  here,  Mr.  Slick  ?" 

"  Sit  down  here,  and  I  will  tell  you,"  sais  I.  "  The  fact  is  I  have 
been  too  busy  to  think  of  it,  but  now  I  am  agoin'  to  settle  down; 
and  if  I  could  find  a  young  lady  that  wouldn't  object  to  a  man  who 
had  been  a  clockmaker,  and  is  a  Yankee-doodlo  in  the  bargain,  I 
think  I  would  knock  under,  and  ask  for  marcy ;  but  they  are  easier 
talked  of  than  found." 

Now  what  I  ara  goin'  to  set  down,  Squire,  is  a  fact,  but  I  know 
you  will  put  it  all  to  the  credit  of  my  vanity,  and  say  it's  one  of  my 
boasts,  for  you  are  always  a  sayin'  that  I  consait  people  admire  me 
and  my  books  and  all  that,  more  nor  any  one  else  does ;  but  it's  no 
Buch  u  thing,  it's  ray  knowledge  of  human  natur'  that  enables  me  to 


I 

I 


% 

h 

f 
If 

,1. 

f 

'■t 


A    PICNIC    AT    LA     IIAIVE. 


269 


lensivc. 
low  aro 
it  ion — 
Qtry,  as 
imatc  at 
ar-cane, 
it,  bear- 
each  is 
iegraphs 
'es  with 
ull  him- 
,  wc  are 
J  nothin' 
selves  to 
one,  and 

look  for 

n  do  you 

lave  done 

,he  hand- 


read  folks'  thoughts  like  print.  Put  me  in  a  court,  and  I'll  tell  you 
if  a  witness  is  lyin'  or  not;  show  me  a  jury,  and  I'll  tell  you  who  ia 
for  the  plaintiff,  and  who  for  the  defendant,  and  who  don't  under- 
stand a  word  that's  said.  The  face,  like  a  shop-front,  was  intended 
to  show  the  sort  of  wares  that's  inside.  It's  a  beautiful  study  j  and 
the  only  reason  it  aint  taught  in  schools  is,  that  boys  would  find  out 
what  fools  their  masters  be.  What  I  am  a  goin'  to  tell  you  is  a 
fact,  Lucy  just  gave  me  a  sort  of  absent  look,  her  eyes  was  on  me, 
but  she  was  a  speculatin'  on  herself;  she  said  nothin'  foi"  a  space, 
and  then  drew  a  long,  easy  breath,  as  much  as  to  say,  what  a  grand 
chance  that  would  be  for  me. 

"I  don't  mind  tcUin'  you  Lucy,"  sais  I,  "but  don't  mention  it  to 
any  one.  I  am  safe  with  you,  seein'  you  are  agoin'  to  be  married 
yourself." 

"  Me  !"  said  she.    "  Why  who  onder  the  sun  told  you  that  story  ?" 

"  Why  you  said  so  just  now,  yourself." 

"No  I  didn't,"  said  she.  "  I  said  people  said  so,  and  so  they  do, 
for  they  are  always  a  settin'  down  one  to  somebody  or  another.  It's 
a  pity  they  wouldn't  mind  their  own  business.  There  aint  no  truth 
in  it  —  I  aint  engaged.  The  way  married  folks  live  aiut  no  great 
temptation  to  marry,  is  it?" 

"  Well,  it  aint,"  sais  I,  "  that's  a  fact.  I  feel  kind  of  skeered 
myself  when  I  turn  it  over  in  my  mind." 

"'  I  am  only  twenty-two,"  said  she,  "  and  have  plenty  of  time  to 
decide  on  it  yet,  don't  you  think  so  ?  What  in  the  world  is  Eunice 
Snare  coming  over  here  for  ?"  she  said,_  with  evident  annoyance. 
"  Come  let  us  go  where  the  dancers  are,  I  can't  abide  that  girl.  I 
never  could  discover  what  folks  see  in  her  to  call  her  handsome.  But 
who  is  that  gentleman,  Mr.  Slick  ?" 

"  That  is  our  captain,"  sais  I.  "  He  is  is  fine  a  feller  as  ever 
lived ;  let  me  introduce  him  to  you." 

Lucy  was  puzzled.     She  didn't  want  to  leave  a  man  that  was  in 

sarch  of  a  wife,  and  still  less  less  to  leave  him  with  Eunice  Snare. 

;  I)Ut  she  was  pleased  with  her  new  acquaintance,  and  accepted  him 

[  as  a  partner  for  the  dance.     Oh,  Lucy  !  sais  I  to  myself,  you  are  a 

;   little  bit  of  a  jilt,  you  know  you  arc.    And  Sam,  sais  I,  did  you  ever 

I  sec  a  miller  a  hoverin'  round  a  candle  ?  he  is  apt  to  get  his  wings 

singed  afore  he  is  done,  aint  he  ?     What  would  Sophy  say,  if  she 

was  here  ? 

"  How  are  you,  Mr.  Slick?"  said  Peter  Fink,  a  goney,  who  lived 
to  Bridge-Port,  at  Upper  La  Halve.  "  I  am  glad  to  sec  you.  You're 
just  the  man  I  wanted  to  see.     How  is  times  to  California?" 

''Grand,"  sais  I. 

"  Well,  I'm  goin'  there,"  sais  he. 

''  That's  right.     It's  a  noble  place,  lots  of  gold  there ;  all  you've 
23* 


i-TO 


A    r  I  C  N  I  C    AT    LA     II  A  I  V  E 


got  to  do  is  to  find  it,"  sais  T,  "  and  you  can't  help  doin'  that,  if  you 
don't  miss  it." 

"What  sort  of  a  place  is  San  Francisco?" 

''  Grand ;  it's  only  boon  burned  down  ten  times  in  five  years,  and 
now  it's  ten  times  as  largo  as  it  was  at  fust." 

*'irot,  aintit?" 

"  Well  no,  not  particularly,  especially  at  the  diggins.  Folks  froze 
to  death  there  this  last  winter  in  the  snow-storms,  and  them  that 
weren't  froze  died  of  starvation;  but  it  was  their  own  fault,  thoy 
forgot  that  gold  wouldn't  buy  food  whore  there  aint  none  to  sell.  A 
sensible  man  like  you  would  make  your  fortiu  there." 

"What  shall  I  take  out?" 

"  Oh,  a  small  kit  will  do.  A  rifle,  a  brace  of  Colt's  revolver  pis- 
tols, and  a  bowie-knife,  is  all  you  want  for  arms.  A  pair  of  heavy 
water-proof  boots  to  keep  your  feet  dry,  a  broad-brimmed  hat  to  keep 
your  head  cool,  a  set  of  light  fingers,  and  a  pair  of  scales  of  the 
right  sort  to  weigh  gold  ;  for  sixteen  ounces  of  that  only  weighs  ton 
of  lead  at  the  diggins.  The  only  objection  is,  thrrc  is  no  xccKn'lj/ 
where  there  is  a  Committee  of  Safctij.  'A  feller  is  hanged  on  sus- 
picion there  sometimes,  but  then  it's  only  brrv'^-faced  follows  that 
suffer.  Golden  looks  —  and  your  hair  is  as  ^.  r  as  a  carrot  —  will 
save  your  life  anywhere." 

"Well,"  sais  he,  "after  all  its  better  nor  farmin',  aint  it?  It's 
fcsickly  tho',  they  tell  me." 

"  Oh,  no !  nothin'  to  speak  of.  There  is  the  bullet-fever,  to  be 
sure;  but  if  you  keep  out  of  its  way  it  won't  hurt  you." 

"But  what  do  you  think  of  Australia?" 

"  No  go,"  sais  I ;  "  a  man  can  make  a  fortune  of  a  million  or  two 
there  in  no  time ;  but  when  he  comes  back,  if  he  goes  to  England 
(which  he  would  in  course,  for  no  man  with  such  a  lot  of  money  as 
that  would  come  back  to  La  IJaive),  folks  button  up  their  pockets 
and  edge  off.  Judges  give  hinra  knowin'  wink,  as  if  they  had  seen 
him  afore,  iuid  policemen  swear  they  knew  him  of  old  about  town; 
and  as  like  as  not  he  will  be  took  up  fur  pome  one  else,  for  many  a 
handsomer  fellow  than  you  bo  has  been  strung  up  before  now.  It's 
no  great  credit  to  be  a  colonist  at  any  time ;  but  ]5otany  Bay  !  Oh  ! 
it's  the  devil !  It  aint  much  to  say  you  are  a  bishop  there,  for  folks 
laugh  and  say  the  greater  the  sinner  the  greater  the  saint.  You 
can't  even  boast  of  your  acquaintance  —  no  matter  if  they  are  groat 
people.  You  won't  raise  yourself  by  sayin'  you  played  cards  with 
Smith  O'Brien ;  and  by  turnin'  up  the  Knave  of  Clubs,  won  a  nug- 
get of  ore  that  was  as  heavy  as  himself,  and  he  hadn't  weight  enough 
to  stretch  a  rope;  but  still  it  is  a  great  thing  if  you  are  invited 
among  grand  people,  and  dine  off  of  silver,  to  be  able  to  say  my 
gridiron  and  my  tea-kettle  are  gold  —  real  pure  gold — yellow  as  saf- 
fron, and  no  alloy." 


A     PICNIC    AT     LA     HAIVE. 


271 


"I  SCO,"  said  Blun-noso,  "you  don't  think  much  of  either  of 
them.  What  locality  do  you  rccouimcnd,  for  this  is  no  place  for  a 
smart  mini ;  it  was  made  of  a  Saturday  night  when  it  was  late,  and 
the  j<»b  was  only  half  done;  and  it  appears  to  mo  all  the  ballast  of 
the  ark  was  throwcd  out  here,"  and  ho  looked  pleased,  as  if  ho  said 
8omethin'  clever. 

"  Rockyfornia,"  sais  I,  "  is  the  country  for  mo." 

"  Uockyfornia  !"  sais  he;  "I  never  heerd  of  it." 

^'  You  wouldn't  know  it,"  sais  T,  "if  I  was  to  toll  you,  for  you 
don't  oiiderstand  geography ;  it  aint  taught  in  the  school  to  Bridge- 
Port;  and  if  I  was  to  show  you  the  map,  you  wouldn't  be  a  bit  the 
wiser.  That's  the  place  for  rich  deposits;  it  beats  Mclburn  and 
Pacific  murder  fields  of  gold  all  holler." 

"  Do  tell,"  sais  he,  "  where  is  it  ?" 

"  I  know,"  said  T,  "  a  party  of  men  go  there  onct,  and  afore 
twelve  o'clock  one  day  clear  two  thousand  pounds,  and  in  the  cvenin' 
two  thousand  more.  What  do  you  think  of  that,  my  old  boy?" 
sais  I,  clappin'  of  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Where  was  that?     J)o,  for  goodness  gracious  sake,  tell  me?" 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "  I  will  if  you  can  keep  a  secret,  for  there  aint 
but  few  people  as  knows  it.     Will  you  promise  nic?" 

"I'll  swear  to  it,"  sais  he. 

"Oh  I  then  I  won't  believe  you  at  all,"  sais  I.  "Voluntary 
oaths  aint  bindin'.  I'll  affarm ;  well,  that's  an  cquivocatin'  oath. 
Father  used  to  say  that  no  man  affarms,  but  a  critter  that  likes  to 
lie  his  own  way ;  he  lifts  up  his  hand,  and  sais,  *  Take  that  for  an 
oath ;  it's  an  oath  to  you,  but  it  aint  to  me,  for  I  .shut  down  three 
fingers,  and  who  cares  for  the  minority?'  But,  accordin'  to  my 
opinion,  and  1  have  no  prejudices,  aflarmin'  is  just  as  good  as 
swearin'  when  the  truth  aint  a-goin'  to  be  told." 

"Well,  I'll  kiss  the  book." 

"What  in  natur'  is  the  use  in  you  kissin'  a  book  you  can't  read?" 

"Well,  on  my  honour." 

"Honour!  what's  that?  An  honourable  man  pays  his  grog  debts, 
and  cheats  his  tradesman." 

"  WY'll,  I  hope  I  may  die,  if  I  do." 

"Well,  you'll  die  at  any  rate,  whether  you  do,  or  whether  you 
don't.  Even  old  Mathusalcm  had  to  die  at  last;  and  it's  my  opinion 
he  must  have  been  blind,  and  deaf,  and  stupid,  like  an  old  dog, 
many  a  day  afore  he  did  go,  and  was  in  every  one's  way." 

"  Well,  what  security  can  I  give  you  ?" 

"I'll  trust  you  like  a  man,"  sais  I;  "I'll  take  you  at  your  word." 

"  Thank  you,  Sir.     Your  confidence  aint  misplaced,  I  do  assure 

you." 

"  Where  is  this  wonderful  country  ?  a  poor  despiseable  one,"  said 
1,  "  called  Nova  Scotia.     I  saw  a  thousand  barrels  of  macarel  drawn 


n 


■ 


•f 

i 

i: 

-     ^ 

¥ 


272 


A    PICNIC    AT    LA     II  A  I  \'  E . 


in  one  Beinc,  and  tlioy  wore  worth  two  pounds  ii  bnrrel.  Now  go  to 
school,  and  loam  inuItipHcution-tjiblc,  jind  sco  how  intioh  th:it  haul 
was  worth." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  ho,  "but  you  have  to  catch  tb.'in,  clean  thoin, 
and  barrel  thoni,  and  then  take  thcni  to  market,  before  you  touch 
your  pay.  JJut  strike  the  pickaxe  into  the  ground,  and  out  with  a 
nugget  worth  twenty  or  thirty  pounds — aint  that  Avhat  we  call  short 
metro,  to  singin'-school  ?" 

"Well,  it  aint  a  much  shorter  sum  than  t'other  one,"  said  I. 
"  First,  you  have  got  to  dig,  and  then  you  have  to  bale  out  the  hole, 
and  then  it  caves  in,  and  buries  the  pick-axe,  shovel,  iind  basket; 
and  then  you  go  and  buy  others,  and  at  it  agin;  and  arter  a  while, 
ague  comes,  that  shakes  the  bedstead  down,  like  dyin'  convulsions; 
first,  it  most  roasts  you,  then  it  most  freezes  you,  and  at  last  you  hit 
the  nugget,  as  big  as  a  piece  of  chalk,  and  you  put  it  into  your  pack, 
buy  a  pair  of  pistols,  powder  and  ball,  and  a  long  knife,  to  defend  it, 
and  tramp  down  to  town,  walkin'  all  night,  and  winkin'  all  day,  and 
faintin'  almost  all  the  time;  and  when  you  go  to  sell  it,  one-third  is 
quartz,  one-third  dirt,  and  one-third  the  real  auriferous  deposit,  scat- 
tered about  in  little  particles  of  gold,  as  big  as  currant-seeds,  in  a 
substance  called  matrix.  Instead  of  a  farm,  it  will  only  purchase  a 
night's  lodgin',  and  a  new  pair  of  shoes  to  walk  back  in.  Oh  !  go 
to  the  diggins,  by  all  n)cans.  It  is  a  lottcrj',  to  be  sure ;  but  you 
may  draw  a  prize.  The  only  thing  is,  that  when  you  come  to  count 
the  cost,  you  arc  apt  to  look  blank  yourself;  but  one  blank  to  a  prize 
aint  much  out  of  the  way,  as  lotteries  go." 

"Mr.  Slick,"  said  he,  "do  you  think  me  a  fool,  to  talk  to  mo 
that  way?" 

"No,"  sais  I;  "I  don't  think  so  at  all;  I  know  it.'' 

"Well,  then,"  sais  he,  "I'll  teach  you  better  manners;"  and 
really,  them  fellers  that  have  Dutch  blood  in  them  like  fightin' 
rather  better  than  arguin' ;  and  Master  Pete  Fink  was  in  rael  airucst, 
so  he  began  to  square  off. 

Thinks  I,  Sam,  you  have  pushed  this  a  little  too  far;  and  if  you 
don't  mind  your  stops,  you'll  have  to  lick  him,  which  will  do  neither 
of  you  any  good,  and  will  lower  your  position  in  society.  So  I  stept 
back  a  little,  and  just  then  saw  old  Sorrow,  the  black  cook  and 
fiddler.  "  Ki  I"  sais  I,  and  the  nigg(«'  saw  at  once  what  I  wanted, 
and  came  double  quick.  "  Mr.  Pete,"  sais  T,  "  I  warn't  brought  up 
to  fightin'  and  wranglin';  as  mother  used  to  s^iy, 

"  '  Little  children,  never^let 
Your  angry  passions  rise, 
Your  little  hands  were  never  meant 
To  tear  each  other's  eyes.'  " 

Oh !  how  ravin'  mad  that  made  him  !  lie  fairly  hopped  agin. 
Pokin'  is  worse  than  hittiW,  any  thne ;  no  cue  can  >:t<ind  if,  hardly. 


A     riCNTC     AT     LA     H  A  I  V  E 


273 


»W  {^0  to 
i:it  haul 

n  them, 
•u  touch 
It  witlj  ;\ 
ill  short 

•  said  T. 
the  hnlo, 

haskct ; 

a  while, 
vulsions ; 
it  you  hit 
our  pack, 
Icfend  it, 

(lay,  and 
c-third  is 
osit,  scat- 
ecdp,  in  a 
lurchase  a 
Oh!  go 
;  but  you 

I  to  count 

to  a  prize 

dk  to  mo 


ira: 


and 

;e  iSghtiu' 

airucst, 


"Here  is  a 'mancipatcd  nigger,"  sais  T,  "which  you  poor  des- 
pisablo  Colonists  aiiit.  Wo  look  down  upon  you,  and  so  do  tho 
iSritish :  and  you  don't  respect  yoursolvcs.  You  are  neither  chulk 
nor  cheese;  but  this  oloun.'d  gontlonian  will  butt,  goudge,  fight,  or 
kick  shins  with  you,  whichever  you  phniso.  Sorrow,  make  this  maa 
sing,  'Oh!  be  joyful !'  "  and  I  strolled  on,  and  left  thorn. 

Ijucy  was  Hirtin'  with  my  friend,  tho  Captirj;  and  Eunice  Snaro 
said  that  he  had  put  Captain  liooft  lloogstraten's  nose  out  of  joint, 
and  wondered  when  he  returned  from  tho  West  Indies  what  ho 
would  think  of  tho  way  she  was  behavin'. 

"Haven't  we  had  a  pleasant  day?"  said  she.  "Who  do  you 
think  is  the  prettiest  girl  hero;  come  tell  me  now.  I  aint  fishin' 
for  compliments,  so  don't  say  me  for  perlitoness,  for  'praise  to  tho 
face  is  open  disgrace,'  but  just  say  now  any  other.  Which  do  you 
think  is  the  handsomest  young  lady?" 

"  There  is  nobody  handsome,"  sais  I,  "where  you  are,  Eunice." 

"  Phoo !"  said  she,  "how  stupid  you  arc;  are  you  as  active  aa 
you  used  to  be,  3Ir.  Slick,  when  you  could  jump  over  three  horses 
standin'  side  by  side  ?" 

"Suppose  we  have  a  race." 

And  off  we  went  as  hard  as  we  could  clip.  I  noticed  we  was  be- 
hind a  screen  of  spruces  that  concealed  us  from  view,  and  therefore 
didn't  mind;  and  away  we  went  up  tho  windin'  road  like  wink.  At 
last  she  gave  in,  and  sat  down  on  a  windfall-log  fairly  beat  out.  Oh, 
she  panted  like  a  hunted  hare.  Well,  in  course  1  sat  down  along 
side  of  her,' and  had  to  support  her  with  my  arm,  and  her  voice  was 
almost  entirely  gone,  and  wo  had  to  talk  in  signs  with  our  lips  in- 
stead of  our  voices.  It  was  a  long  time  afore  she  came  to,  and  she 
had  to  rest  her  head  on  my  shoulder,  when  "  Eunice,  Eunice,"  was 
shouted  out  as  clear  as  a  whistle.  It  gave  her  a  convulsive  fit  amost. 
She  pressed  me  so  close,  and  then  sprang  up  as  short  as  a  steel-trap. 

"That  is  Lucy  llandall's  voice,"  said  she,  "aint  it  provokin' ? 
Come,  let  us  return,  Mr.  Slick.  Oh,  Lucy  dear  I"  said  she,  deter- 
mined to  have  the  first  word.  "  We  have  been  lookin'  for  you  every- 
where. Mr.  Slick  said  ho  was  sure  he  saw  you  come  this  way;  but 
I  said,  I  thought  the  Captin  had  rowed  you  to  the  island." 

What  that  meant  I  don't  know,  but  it  disconsarted  tho  young 
lady,  who  was  no  matrh  for  her  rival.     She  merely  said  : 

"  Snares  arc  oftener  set  in  shady  places  than  in  public  thorough- 
f^ires." 

But  this  little  skirmish  ended  immediately,  and  the  two  beautiful 
girls  were  on  the  best  possible  terms  with  each  other  in  less  than  no 
time.  It's  a  charmin'  thing  to  see  how  lovin'  young  ladies  are  to 
each  other  when  men  are  by.  I  wonder  if  they  are  so  when  they 
are  by  themselves.     After  a  hand  is  played  out  you  Lave  to  shuffle 


ini 


m 


274 


A    PICNIC    AT    LA     II  A  I  V  E . 


I 


|0 

.  .'14 

1 

I 

i 

• 

i 

. 

H 


H: 


1 

5 


hi  I 


IS  ■: 


the  cards,  cut,  change  places,  ami  take  a  new  deal ;  and  Lucy  and  I 
was  partners  again. 

"AV!>at  do  you  tliink  of  >liss  Snare?"  said  she.  '^^onio  folks," 
(layin'  great  stress  upon  the  si>i))<\  as  if  they  were  plaguey  few) 
"aetilly  dv)  say  she  is  very  handsome." 

"  Well,  she  warn't  behind  the  door  whcu  beauty  was  given  out, 
that's  a  fact." 

"She  is  not  the  girl,"  said  she,  "to  be  behind  the  door  at  no 
time,"  and  she  looked  wieked.  "The  babes  in  the  woods  lost  their 
way,  didn't  they?"  and  she  laughed  like  anythin'. 

"  Well,"  sais  T,  "  you  are  apt  to  lose  your  way,  and  go  round  and 
round  in  the  woods  when  you  are  too  busy,  talkin*,  to  mind  turnin's. 
Supposin'  I  row  you  over  to  the  i.sland ;  eome  let's  see  what  sort  of 
a  place  that  is.  They  say  Captain  II oof t  lloogstrateu  is  goin'  to 
build  there." 

"  What  story  is  that,"  said  she,  and  she  stopt  a  minit  and  coloured 
up,  as  she  looked  inquiriidy  into  my  face.  "What  story  is  that 
Eunice  has  been  tellin'  you  of  me?  I  should  like  to  hear  it,  for  I 
don't  km)w  what  it  nu>ans." 

"Nor  I  either,"  said  ],  "I  only  heard  you  a  sparrin'  a  littl(>,  and 
that's  the  iibe  she  u:ave  vou.  You  heard  as  niucli  as  1  did.  When 
I  walk  with  young  ladies  I  generally  talk  to  them  of  themscdves  and 
not  of  others.  1  wouldn't  let  any  one  speak  agin  you,  Lucy;  if  they 
did,  they  would  only  lower  themselves.  It's  nateral  if  she  <lid  feel 
kinder  jealous  of  you ',  two  splendiferous  galls,  like  you  two,  are 
like  two  candles." 

"  How  is  that  ?"  said  she. 

"  Why,  on(>  will  light  a  whole  room  as  clear  as  day ;  fetch  the 
second  in,  and  it  takes  half  the  power  of  the  other  olV  and  don't 
make  thinjiis  mucli  briii;hter  arter  all  " 

"That's  no  reason  why  one  should  be  blowed  out,"  said  slie. 

"No,  dear;  but  if  one  should  go  out  of  itself,  you  aint  left  in 
the  dark." 

"Oh  !  that  would  ,-,c,iro  a  body  dreadfully,  wouldn't  itj"'  said  she, 
und  she  larted  as  if  tli«!  i'lea  was  not  so  very  fiightful  arter  all. 
"So  you  like  two  strings  t"  your  bow,  do  your"'  she  said. 

"I  haven't  one  yet,"  said  I,  "I  wish  I  had.  Now  yoti  liavc 
three;  there  is  Mr.  llooft  lloogstruteU;,  what  a  thunderin'  hard 
hamo  lie  has  got." 

"Neither  he  nor  his  name  is  anythin'  to  mc,"  and  she  spoke  with 
un  angry  air;  but  I  went  on. 

"There  is  Iloogstratcn,  o-  whatever  it  is,  and  the  (Jaj)tain  and 
me;  and  you  are  so  hard  to  please,  you  want  to  keep  us  all." 

"What  flirts  all  you  men  are,"  said  she.  "  lint  oh,  my  sakcsl 
iiint  that  tree  lovely '{  just  one  mass  of  flowers.     Hold  me  up  please, 


I 


A     PICNIC     AT     LA     II  A  I  V  K 


275 


V  and  1 

folks," 
7  iow) 

,'cn  out, 

r  ut  110 
»!<t  their 

uiul  and 
tiiniin's. 

t  sort  ot" 
goiii'  to 

colourod 

'  is  thiit 

it,  for  I 

ittl(\  and 
.  When 
dvos  and 
I ;  if  tlioy 
did  feci 

two,    !110 


otch  tlio 
lid  don't 

sll(!. 

l(>ft  in 

said  slio, 
iirtcr  all. 

;ou  have 


nil 


hard 


)kc  with 


Itain 


and 


sakc3 I 
Ip  please, 


Mr.  Sli(dc,  till  T  got  a  braiudi  oft'  of  that  applo-troo.     Oh  dear!  bow 
,swe(>t  it  .Mtiit'Us." 

Well  I  tnnix  her  in  my  arms  and  lifted  hor  up,  but  she  was  a  long 
time  a  ehoosin'  of  a  wreath,  :ind  that  one  she  put  round  my  hat,  and 
then  she  gathered  some  sprigs  for  a  nosegay. 

"  Don't  hold  me  so  high,  please.  There  smell  that,  aint  it  beau- 
tiful!;'     1  hope  1  aint  a  showin'  of  my  ankles." 

"  Luey,  how  my  heart  beats,"  sain  F,  and  it  did  too,  it  thundered 
like  a  sledgtsdianimer  :  I  aelilly  thought  it  would  have  tore  my  waist- 
coat buttons  off.  "  Don't  you  hear  it  go  bumj),  bump,  bump,  Luey  '{ 
1  wonder  if  it  over  busts  like  a  biler;  for  hohlin'  sueh  a  gall  as  you 
be,  T^uey,  in  oiu^'s  arms  aint  safe,  it  is  as  miudi  as  oiui's — " 

"  Don't  be  silly,"  said  she,  larfm',  "or  I'll  get  right  down  tluM 
minit.  No,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  hear  it  l)e!  i .  I  don't  beli(!ve  you'vo 
got  any  heart  at  all." 

"There,"  siiid  1,  bringin'  her  a  Httlo  farther  forward,  "don't  you 
bear  it  lunv  '(      Listen." 

"No,"  said  she,  "it's  iiotliin'  b'Jt  your  wa(<'h  liekin',"  and  she 
larfed  lik(^  anylhin';   "  I  thought  so." 

"  You  haven't  got  no  iieart  at  all,  have  you*/"  sais  f. 

"  It  never  has  Ixion  tried  yet,"  said  she.  "  1  hardly  know  whether 
I  have  one  or  not.  ' 

"(Ml!  then  you  don't  know  whether  it  is  in  the  right  j)lace  or 
not." 

"  Yes  it  is,"  said  she,  a  j)ullin'  of  my  whiskers;  "yes  it  is  just  in 
the  right  place,  just  when;  it  ought  to  be,"  and  she  put  my  hiirid  (lu 
it;  "when;  else  would  you  iiavo  it,  dear,  but  wlirn!  it  is'/  Ibit, 
bush!"  said  she;  "  I  saw  I'lunieo  Snare;  just  now;  she  is  a  eomin* 
round  the  turn  there  Set,  mo  (htwn  <piiek,  jtlense.  Ain't  it  pro- 
vokin' i*  that  gjill  fiiirly  h;unts  mt;.  I  Ii(i|ie  slu;  didn't  sec  me  in 
your  arms.' 

"  ri'  lift  hn-  up  to  tli(  tree  too,"  sais  I,  "  if  ym  like  ;  jiiid  then — " 

"Oh  no!"  said  she,  "  it  aiiii.  worth  while  I  (Imi't  cure  what  sho 
says  or  thinks  om  snap  ^^'(  my  linger,"  and  advam-in'  rapidly,  held 
out  the  nosegay,  and  prcscinted  it  to  (he  ('a]»fin. 

"  Ah  !"  s;».is  I,gM//ur  sadly  over  h<'r  shoulder,  "  here  cdincs  Snrrow." 

"Sorrow!"  said  both  tlm  young  ladicis  at  onet. 

"  Ves,  Sorrow,"  sais  I  ;  "d-ti't  you  see  liim  V  and  as  they  turned 
round,  they  both  exclaim<;d  : 

"  Why,  it's  only  a  niggar  !" 

"  Yes,  but  hi.s  Manj(!  is  Sorrow,  and  lie  is  the  bearer  of  bad  news, 
L  know." 

"  ('aptin,"  said   the  darkie  mesBenger,  "  Massa  Pilot,  .^ay,  pleaso^ 
come  on  board,  Sar;   tide  is  all  right  fer  crossin'  dc,  !.,4r,  if  der  is  d« 
leastest  morsel  of  wind  in  d(!  worlil." 
Well  that  i.s  pi(»vokiu'  !"  said  Lucy 


<( 


w 


e76 


A     INARROW     ESCAPE. 


"Well  T  do  doclnro,  that  is  too  bad  !"  said  Eunice. 

Thinks  T  to  myself,  "  Aii,  sorrow,"  as  poor  old  ^linister  itsod  to 
^^^y)  :'nd  he  was  a  book  of  poetry  himself,  ho  was  fidl  of  wise  saws, 
"  Ah,  sorrow,  how  close  you  tread  on  the  heels  of  enjoyment  I  The 
rose  has  its  thorn,  the  peach  its  worm ;  and  decay  lies  concealed  in 
the  chalice  of  the  flower.  All  earthly  things  are  doomed  to  pass 
away.  The  feast  ceases;  the  day  expires;  the  night  wears  out  at 
last ;  joy  departs  when  most  enjoyed.  The  cord  snaps  in  twain, 
and  is  parted  for  ever.  Life  is  not  a  dream,  'tis  but  a  gleanj.  The 
sunny  spot  of  the  morning,  is  the  shady  side  of  the  evening.  Wo 
liavc  no  abidin'  place;  we  must  move  with  the  changing  scene,  or 
it  leaves  and  forgets  us." 

How  well  T  remember  his  very  words,  poor  dear  old  man. 

How  mysterious  it  is,  ho  i;scd  to  say,  that  in  the  midst  of  gaiefv, 
serious  thoughts  like  unbidden  guests,  should  intrude  where  they  are 
neither  expected  nor  wanted.  All  however  is  not  ailected  alike. 
The  hearse  and  the  mourner  pass  unobserved  in  the  crowd,  otie  c  >n- 
tains  a  dead  body  and  the  other  an  aching  heart,  while  all  around  i:* 
noise,  frivolity,  or  business.  Poor  old  soul,  nobody  talked  like  liini 
I  do  believe.  "  Yes  it  is  a  sudden  ]iartin',  but  it  is  better  that  is  s*., 
]iUcy,"  thought  T,  "for  we  haven't  h.ad  time  to  be  (luite foolish,  and 
.the  knowledge  of  that  makes  even  fully  agreeable." 


CHAPTEPt    XXVII. 


A    N  A  K  in )  w    ]■:  S  C  A  P  E . 

TiiK  wind  cjime  in  slight  puff's  and  died  away,  sportin'  about  hert 
and  there,  just  rutllin'  (lie  surl'acc  in  plaei's,  but  not  heavy  enough  to 
raise  a  ripple.  'J'iie  sailors  (■.•lilcd  flit  se  ^pofs  cat's-i)aws.  It  cuii- 
tinu(  I  in  this  w;iy  until  '';,  tide  had  cbhcd  so  1;ir  as  to  ohsfruct  our 
passage  over  the  b:ii-,  :"id  we  ^\vv^'  rouipclliMl  to  remain  wliii\'  \Vi' 
were  until  the  morning.  \\  ;.''■■  uallvin'  up  mid  down  the  deck  with 
the  Captin,  talkin'  ovi  r  tlio  v\i\  (-  ot'  tlio  dav,  we  observed  a  \<^':\t 
}iut  off',  and  steer  fnr  tlo'  '  liiack  ilav.k.'  There  was  no  mistakin' 
the  man  in  the  stern  ;   it  was  IMiinny.  the  daugertype-man. 

"Who  in  the  world  is  that  feller':"'  said  (he  Captin. 

"A  countryman  of  onrn,"   I  said. 

"And  no  great  credit  to  us  (itlur,  T  should  think,"  he  rcjilied. 
"It  takes  II  great  n.any  strange;  fellows  to  make  a  world;  but  I  wish 
ours  would  slay  at  home,  and  not  niak(>  ns  ridiculous  abroad.  Nu 
sensible  man  ever  dri'ssed  tha^  ^^''y?  :>iid  no  hon.est  man  would  liko 
to  puMish  hinisi  If  a  rogue.      A\  hat  does  he  want?" 

"I'll  soon  liud  that  out,"  said  J  ;  "for  thu'  1  wouldn't  care  to  bo 


A    N  A  n  U  O  W    ESCAPE. 


277 


used  to 
se  s:nvs, 

t :   Tiic 

ealeil  in 
to  pass 
s  out  at 
n  twain, 
n.  The 
i-r.  Wo 
^ceuc,  or 


if  gaiety, 
thov  aro 

I'd  alike. 
OTIC  (•  ui- 

iirouii'l  i^ 
iil<o  him 

hat  is  S(., 

.ilit^h,  aiicl 


lout  hiTc 
ouii'h  to 

It   Cilll- 

lut  diir 

el.   wit'.l 
1   a   lM.;;t 

ui>takiii' 


ivpru'il. 
it  1  wish 
ad.  Nu 
mlJ  liko 


re 


to  bo 


Keen  talkin'  to  him  aslioro,  T  should  like  to  draw  him  out  now  wo 
arc  alone,  ft  r  he  is  a  character.  Snrh  rntfcrs  look  well  in  a  jyictur'f 
tho'  fhetr  itf  nothiu   to  (ulmiri'  in  thrniHclveK." 

Ho  handed  up  a  small  carpct-ba^  and  his  gold-headed  cane,  and 
mounted  the  deck  with  i-iirprisin'  agility. 

"  II (iw  are  you,  gentle-jur/;  .'^"  said  he.  '^  What  port  do  you  hail 
from,  Captin  ?"  And  without  waitin'  for  a  reply  went  on  rapidly 
from  one  <|uestion  to  another.  "  W^alked  into  the  liluenoses  to-day, 
Mr.  Slick,  to  the  tune  of  four  imndred  dollars,  betwi^en  sales  of 
prints  and  daiigcrtypes.  Oan  you  set  me  ashore  byuKiby,  or  shall  I 
make  this  Dylcher  wait  for  me '/  Tde  rather  he  should  go.  Fellows 
icho  fuivr  )i<i  foni/iiea  (ire  ofun  all  eye^  and  ears. 

"All  right," 'said  the  Captin. 

"  Now,  gcntle-?/t^'»,"  said  i'liinny,  "suppose  we  go  below?"  Tiio 
(Japtin  larfcd  at  his  fr(!e-and-(!asy  manner,  but  contirmed  pacin'  tho 
deck,  while  jMr.  IMiinny  and  myself  descended  to  the  cabin. 
"  Whicli  is  your  state-room,  Mr.  Slick  V  said  he,  and  takin'  bin 
carpet-bag  in  his  hand,  he  entered  and  clo.sed  the  door  after  him. 

1  returned  to  the  deck,  and  advised  (.'Otler  to  swaller  his  disgust, 
and  come  and  hear  the  feller  talk.  What  was  our  astonishment  at 
lindin'  another  person  there,  as  onlik(!  tin;  one;  who  came  on  board 
as  it  was  jxissible  for  any  two  peoi>l(!  in  tlu;  work]  to  be!  'I'he  enor- 
mf)us  black  beard  and  whiskers  wen;  goni; ;  the  velvet  eoat  was  (sx- 
clianged  lor  a  common  jacket;  and  the  gold  chains  and  satin  waist- 
coat were  superseded  by  a  warm,  grc^y,  liom(!sj)un  vest. 

"  ])o  you  know  nu^  now,  Slick?"  said  he;  for  a  feller  that  don't 
respect  locks,  don't,  mind  handles,  in  a  g(^nei'al  way.  "  Do  you 
mind  Jaamin  I'hiiuiy,  or  Jawin'  i'hinny,  as  they  used  to  call  me?" 

"  Vcs,"  said  1,  v/ith  a  strong  revoltin'  feelin'  of  dislike,  mixed 
up  with  great  curiosity,  fir  he  was  a  noted  bird  —  a  bold,  darin',  on- 
jiri'icipled  feller. 

"  llav(!  you  got  anythin'  to  drink?"  he  said. 

"Yes.      What  will  you  have?" 

"Anythin'  you  jilease,"  Ik;  said;  "f)r  I  am  a  citi/en  of  tho 
whole  univarsal  flniled  Stat(!s  woild.  I)rink  water  in  INIaine,  chani- 
paigne  in  New  York,  eiihir  in  Pennsylvania,  and  everything  in  New 
Oileefis,  from  whiskey  down  to  red-itd\  —  that  they  call  claret.  J 
aint  no  ways  parwkilar  :  like  'cm  all  but  wattu-,  as  I  do  the  wonien — • 
all  but  the  old  ones.  I  say,  did  yon  see  that  Snare  gall?  aint  she  a 
snce/er — a  regelar  ring-tailed  man  r?  1  have  half  a  mind  to  marry 
that  luiifer,  tlio'  wives  are  bothersome  critters  when  yon  hav(^  too 
m.;ny  of  them.  1  have  three;  on  hami  jist  now,  and  tliey  talk  us 
savage  as  meat-a.\e;;  sometimes,  about  States  prison.  ^You  cau't 
7Tforni  'cm,  the  only  way  is  to  ililon'iwwi  ihciu." 

"  Oh,  JiWcy  !"  thinks    1,  "  I    am   glad   yon   are  safe,  at  any  rate. 
But  still  I  wish  IlooListraten  woidd  make  haste  back  from  the  West 
24 


I<«>iiicvJViiJ»*Maii'*S 


^■i^mrr 


f 


278 


A    NARROW     ESCATE, 


.1 

: 


It 


m: 


ij 


if 


Indies;  for  the  devil  is  among  you,  a-roamin'  about,  seeldn'  whom 
he  may  devour.  As  for  Eunice,  she  can  take  care  of  herself:  galla 
that  romp  like  her,  know  how  to  fend  off  better  than  gentler  ones 
like  you,  Lucy.  And,  besides,  there  are  two  things  Phinny  don't 
know  —  one  is,  that  all  natur'  has  its  instincts  for  self-preservation, 
and  wolves  can't  allure,  they  only  scare  their  prey  ;  and  another  is 
an  old  farm  saw  we  used  to  have  to  Slickville,  It  aint  the  nokient 
cart  that's  the  easiest  iipsot  always.  If  he  goes  to  handle  Eunice 
rough,  she'll  clapper-claw  his  false  beard  oflf  in  no  time ;  for  she  is 
as  springy  as  a  catamount.  The  country  galls  are  all  vartuous,  and 
their  arts  are  only  what's  common  to  the  sex  in  general.  Innocence 
is  always  unsuspicious,  and  is  apt  to  be  a  little  (jrairi  too  free  and 
easy.  If  Phinny  mistakes  that  for  boldness,  the  Dutch  boys  will 
make  La  Halve  too  hot  for  him,  I  know." 

I  saw  Cutler  was  gittin'  impatient,  and  I  was  afraid  he  would  lose 
his  temper  with  the  feller.  He  didn't  know  what  I  do  —  that  there 
is  an  hypocracy  in  vice  as  well  as  religion.  It's  the  pride  of  some 
folks  —  like  Jaauiin  —  to  make  you  think  they  surpass  all  in  their 
line,  as  it  is  among  others,  to  make  you  believe  they  are  saints. 
The  one  tries  to  frighten  you  into  the  road  he  wants  you  to  travel, 
and  the  other  to  seduce  you  into  conlidcnce.  ]3oth  m:isks  are  fur- 
nished by  the  devil. 

"I  had  no  notion,  Mr.  Phinny,"  said  I,  "that  that  was  a  false 
beard  you  wore  !     What  is  your  object  in  wearing  it?" 

"  Object !"  said  he,  "  why  to  advertise  myself,  to  be  sure.  '  Who 
is  that  man  with  the  beard '/'  '  The  man  that  takes  daugertypes.' 
Folks  won't  stop  to  read  yonr  7ia;if/-bills,  but  they  must  look  at  your 
chin-h\\\.  They  can't  help  it  nohow  they  can  fix  it.  And  then  there 
is  another  object :  it  aint  always  pleasant  to  be  known,  especially  if 
the  police  are  after  you ;  and  a  disguise  may  save  you  a  sore  throat 
some  day.  I'll  tell  you  how  I  got  it.  Last  year  I  was  to  New  Or- 
leeus,  a  sarvin'  of  my  master  as  faithful  as  ever  any  man  did — " 

"  Your  master,"  sais  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  my  master,  the  devil.  Well,  one  night  I  got 
in  a' most  an  all-fired  row.  I  never  could  keep  out  of  them  to  save 
my  life ;  they  seem  kinder  nateral  to  me.  I  guess  there  must  have 
been  a  row  in  the  house  when  I  was  born,  for  I  can't  recollect  the 
fust  I  was  in,  1  began  so  airly.  Well,  one  night  I  heered  an  awful 
noise  in  a  gamblin'-house  there.  Everybody  was  talkin'  at  ont  i, 
swearin'  at  onct,  and  hittin'  at  onct.  It  somuiod  so  lnautit'ul  and 
enticin'  I  couldn't  go  by,  and  I  just  up  stairs,  and  dashed  right  into 
it  like  wink.  They  had  been  playin'  for  one  of  the  most  angclife- 
rous  slave-galls  I  ever  seed.  She  was  all  but  white,  a  plaguey  sigiit 
more  near  white  than  any  Spanish,  or  Portuguese,  or  Eyetalien  gall 
YOU  ever  laid  eyes  on;  in  fact,  there  was  uothin'  black  about  her 
out  her  hair.     A  Frenchman  owned  her,  and  now  claimed  her  back 


i''i» 


^ 


if.. 


A    NARROW    ESCAPE, 


i'  whom 
If:  galla 
Icr  onea 
ny  don't 
3rvation, 
lother  i3 
;  noisiest 
t  Eunice 
)r  she  is 
ous,  and 
nnocence 
^ree  and 
Joys  will 

ould  lose 

bat  there 
of  some 
in  their 

e  saints. 

to  travel, 
are  fur- 

3  a  false 

'  Who 

ertypes.' 

It  your 

a  there 

cially  if 

•e  throat 

New  Or- 


it  I  got 
to  save 
lust  have 
llect  the 
iui  awful 
I  at  onot, 
it  111  and 
kht  into 


279 


hn 


•icliti 


si; 


lien  ija 


;ht 
11 


lout  her 
ler  back 


V 


i 


%- 


on  his  single  resarved  tlirow.  The  gall  stood  on  a  chair  in  full  view, 
a  perfect  pictur'  of  Southern  beauty,  dressed  to  the  greatest  advan- 
tage, well  educatcid,  and  a  prize  lit  for  ]*residcnt  Tyler  to  win.  I 
worked  my  way  up  to  where  she  was,  and  sais  I ; 

"'Are  them  your  sale  papers?' 

"  '  Yes,'  sais  she ;  '  all  prepared,  except  the  blank  for  the  winner's 
name.' 

"  '  Put  them  in  your  pocket,'  sais  I,  *  dear.  Now  is  there  any  way 
to  escape  ?' 

"'Back  door,'  said  she,  pointin'  to  one  behind  her. 

"  'AH  right/  sais  I;  'don't  be  skccred.  I'll  die  for  you,  but  I'll 
have  you.' 

"The  fight  was  now  general^  every  feller  in  the  room  was  at  it, 
for  they  said  the  owner  was  a  cheatin'  of  theuj.  The  French  and 
furriners  were  on  one  side,  the  City  and  Elver  boys  on  the  other; 
and  as  the  first  was  armed,  they  was  gettin'  rather  the  better  of  it, 
when  I  ups  with  a  chair,  breaks  a  leg  of  it  off,  and  lays  about  right 
and  left,  till  I  came  to  the  owner  of  the  gall,  when  I  made  a  pass  at 
his  sword-arm,  that  brought  the  blade  out  of  it  ilyin'.  I  saw  him 
feelin'  for  a  pistol  with  the  other  hand,  when  1  calls  out,  '  Quick, 
boys,  out  with  the  lights  for  your  life,  lose  no  time  I'  And  as  they 
went  out,  away  he  goes  tdo,  neck  and  crop  out  of  the  winder,  :nid 
the  gall  and  I  slipt  through  the  do^r.  down  the  back  stairs  inti>  the 
street,  drove  off  home,  insarted  my  name  in  the  blank  of  the  bill  of 
sale,  and  she  w'as  mine.  The  knave  •  f  clubs  is  a  great  card.  Slick, 
Oh  !  she  was  a  doll,  and  <rof  \ery  foud  of  me;  she  stuck  as  close  to 
me  as  the  bark  on  a  hickory  log.  She  kicked  up  a  horrible  row 
when  I  sold  her  again,  most  as  bad  as  ti»o  nne  I  got  her  in  ;  and  I 
must  say  1  was  sorry  to  part  with  her,  too,  but  I  wanted  the  mone}-, 
and  she  fetched  a  large  sum." 

"  (rood  Hea^  ns  !"  said  Cutler,  ^'  how  dreailful !"  And  springin' 
suddenly  to  hi>  feet,  left  the  cabin  instantly. 

Phinny  louked  over  his  >huul<lcr  at  him  with  a  most  diabolical 
expression  oaf  countenance. 

"  What  th-  devil  is  the  matter  with  that  fo>ller  T'  said  he.  "  Have 
yom  any  >_^lh'y-nippers  here.  Slick!'  That  critter  reared  up  as  if  he 
was  stung  by  one." 

"  l\Thaf>s  it  was  a  jjallus-nipper,"  said  I,  "that  scared  him." 

lie  turne '  the  ssmie  dreadful  saviige  look  on  me,  and  stared  hard ; 
bui  it  woulu  take  a  better  or  a  wuss  chap  than  him  to  make  me 
\v\\\k.  All  he  ."^aw  was  a  smih",  so  at  l.-ist  he  repeated  the  words, 
"  Crallus  nipper!"  calm  anil  slowly. 

"It  may  be  so,"  said  he.  "  We  are  born,  but  wo  airs^  dead;  and 
you  and  I  may  be  exalted  yet  above  the  idmnion  li«-rd  it'  we  get  our 
due."  And  ho  poured  onl  i\  tumbler  ol'  raw  brandy,  and  tipt  it  off 
like  water,  and  proceeded  :  "  'J'he  way  that  Frenchman  flew  v»ut  of 


280 


A     NARROW    ESCAPE, 


1 

r    "     ., 

a 

I-           ' , 

* 

i. 

-     1 

[    ' 

■) 

« 

^           ■:! 

1 

«..• 


;f  5 


sr 


Nl 


1^  I 


Hi  - 


SI  •  ;  A 


if 


the  winder  when  the  lights  was  put  out,  was  just  exactly  like  the 
motion  of  a  bat.  lie  full  on  the  pavement  as  a  sack  of  grain  does 
tliat  slips  out  of  the  slings.  It's  the  way  to  make  vegetable  marrow 
when  you're  in  a  hurry.  Throw  a  pumpkin  up  in  the  air,  and  it 
will  come  down  squash.  Well,  New  Orleens,  arter  a  while,  began 
to  get  too  hot  for  me,  for  I  never  could  keep  cool  anywhere ;  so  one 
fine  luornin'  I  found  myself  a  goin'  up  the  Mississippi  first  rate. 
"When  we  arrived  opposite  Vixburg,  a  gambler  came  on  board  with 
that  very  identical  beard  on  you  saw  me  wear,  and  the  way  he  fleeced 
the  river  people  was  cautionary.  Scein'  me  there  lookin'  pretty 
stupid  drunk,  for  I  pretended  to  be  hardly  able  to  stand,  he  chal- 
lenged me  to  try  my  luck,  and  I  fairly  cleaned  him  out,  broke  him 
all  to  smash  like  a  shut-up  bank.  I  bnggcd  three  thousand  dollars, 
and  staggered  off  as  if  nothin'  above  partikclar  had  happened.  As 
for  him,  he  looked  like  a  feller  who,  when  it  rains  mush,  has  got  no 
spoon.  There  was  a  young  cotton-trader  on  board  at  the  time 
whose  life  I  had  saved  onct  in  a  mass  meetin'  row  about  Cuba, 
for  party  spirit  ran  high,  you  know,  at  New  Orleens  just  then.  So 
sais  I : 

" '  Friend,  what  do  you  think  I  had  best  do  to  avoid  that  critter? 
for  he  he  would  think  no  more  of  dirkin'  me  than  stickin'  a  suckin' 
pig!' 

" '  Go  to  bed,'  said  he,  'and  I  will  go  with  you,  and  we  will  con- 
coct a  plan.' 

"No  sooner  said  than  done.  He  turned  into  the  off-side  of  a 
berth,  and  took  charge  of  my  money,  and  I  took  out  the  pocket- 
book,  and  folded  up  a  newspaper  and  put  in  it,  and  stowed  it  all 
away  in  my  pocket,  and  then  emptied  out  a  carpet-bag,  and  stuffed 
some  of  the  bed-clothes  in  it,  and  locked  it,  and  sot  down,  pretendiu' 
to  be  too  screwy  to  talk  sense.  Presently  in  comes  the  gambler- 
man,  but  without  his  beard,  but  that  made  no  difference.  I  had 
watched  his  eye  too  keen  to  be  deceived,  and  he  slipt  into  the 
berth  on  the  other  side  of  the  state-room,  and  pretended  to  go  to 
sleep. 

'' '  Do  come  to  bed,  Mr.  Starrat,*  said  cotton-trader  to  me  (for  we 
had  agreed  upon  a  false  name);  'give  me  your  hand,  and  I  will  try 
to  help  you  in.' 

"'Can't,'  sais  I;  'I'm  too  drunk;  if  I  lift  my  leg  up,  I  shall 
fall,  as  sure  as  fate.  I  want  three  legs  to-night  —  and  besides,  who 
the  devil  arc  you?  I  won  three  thousand  dollars  to-nijrtit,  and  there 
it  is,'  takin'  i  at  my  pocket-book  and  slappin'  it  with  my  hand,  '  and 
a  thousand  u  liars  of  my  own  with  it  to  keep  it  company,  like  two 
in  a  bed.* 

" '  Well,  give  it  to  me/  said  he,  '  and  I  will  take  care  of  it  for 
you.' 


A     NARROW     ESCATE 


281 


Ike  the 
in  docs 
narrow 

and  it 
,  began 

so  one 
Bt  rate, 
rd  with 
1  fleeced 

pretty 
le  chal- 
ike  him 

dollars, 
3d.  Aa 
s  got  no 
be  time 
it  Cuba, 
icn.     So 

;  critter  ? 
1  suckin' 

svill  con- 
side  of  a 

pocket- 
led  it  all 
stutVed 
Ivctendin' 

irambler- 
I  had 

into  the 

to  go  to 

^^for  we 
will  try 

I  shall 
Ides,  who 
Tnd  there 
]nd,  '  and 
like  two 

of  ii  for 


"  *  Yes,'  sais  I,  '  friend  ;  but  if  I  am  sewed  up,  I  aint  green.  The 
fact  is,  I  never  play  in  luck  when  I  am  sober.'  But  after  a  great 
deal  of  palaver,  sais  I,  'I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do;  I'll  lock  it  up 
in  the  carpet-bag,  and  if  you  get  the  key  out  of  my  trowsers 
pocket  without  wakin'  me,  you  are  a  cleverer  feller  than  I  take  you 
to  be.' 

"  So  I  opens  the  bag,  rams  the  pocket-book  well  down,  and  then 
locks  all  up  safe,  and  arter  many  false  dodges,  gets  into  bed,  and  offs 
into  a  fast  sleep  in  no  time.  About  an  hour  afore  day,  the  bell  rang, 
there  was  a  niovin'  on  deck,  and  we  was  at  a  landin'-place.  Gambler 
crawls  out  o'  bed  cautiously,  and  as  silent  as  a  cat  whips  up  the 
carpet-bag,  and  offs  ashore  like  a  shot ;  and  away  we  went  up  stream 
agin,  puffin'  and  blowin'  as  if  the  engine  was  wrathy.  Just  at  the 
first  dawn  we  gets  out  and  goes  on  deck,  and  found,  sure  enough,  a 
man  answerin'  to  gambler,  only  he  had  no  beard,  had  gone  ashore 
with  a  travellin'-bag  in  his  hand.     He  fell  right  into  the  trap. 

"  Now  Orlecns,  Slick,  is  a  better  College  for  educatin'  and  finishin' 
a  feller  off  than  Vixburg,  artor  all.  There  are  more  professors  and 
more  science  in  it.  Well,  as  soon  as  wo  touched  on  the  other  shore, 
I  landed,  took  the  stage,  and  cut  across  the  country  to  Albany,  to 
get  out  of  the  critter's  beat,  for  he  was  a  feller  that  would  dog  you 
like  a  bloodhound.  In  his  bed  I  found  that  beard,  which  was  all 
he  left  in  exchange  for  that  are  valuable  pocket-book.  If  he  was  a 
good  scholar,  I  guess  it  wouldn't  take  him  long  to  count  his  money. 
Since  then,  I  have  been  up  and  down,  and  all  through  our  great  na- 
tion ;  but  it's  gettin'  to  be  too  small  a  lot  for  me  to  feed  in  without 
beiu'  put  into  pound  as  a  stray  critter.  So  I  changed  ground  for 
new  pastures,  and  have  done  first-rate  in  these  provinces. 

"The  daugertype  line  would  just  suit  you,  Slick.  It's  a  grand 
business  to  study  human  natur'  in.  The  greatest  shine  I  ever  cut 
was  in  Canada.  It  beat  the  rise  I  took  out  of  the  gambler  all  holler. 
I  sold  five  hundred  bishops  and  two  thousand  priests  there.  It  was 
a  fii'st-rate  stroke  of  business.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was — (this  is  super- 
superior  brandy  of  yourn.  Slick;  it's  a  sin  to  spile  it  with  water,  and 
a  man  should  never  sin  for  nothin' ;  it  makes  it  too  cheap ;  it  is  posi- 
tively a  cordial.)  I  couldn't  do  nothin'  with  the  French  to  Canada 
at  first.  They  were  too  careful  of  their  money.  They  wouldn't 
come  near  me,  nor  even  look  at  me.  So  what  does  I  do,  but  go  to 
the  bishop,  and  asks  him  to  do  me  the  honour  to  sit  to  me,  that  I 
might  have  a  likeness  of  him  to  present  to  my  honoured  and  re- 
spected friend,  the  Bishop  of  New  Orleens,  who  was  one  of  the  best 
men  that  ever  lived,  and  if  his  life  was  spared,  would  convart  the 
whole  city — which  was  greatly  needed,  for  it  was  an  awful  wicked 
place — and  begged  him  to  lot  mc  duplicate  it  for  himself,  as  a  mark 
of  my  veneration  for  the  head  of  the  only  true  Church,  on  the  face 
of  the  universal  airth. 
-4  * 


t'1 


I  ^  1 


1  M 


i' 
I?; 


282 


A    NARROW    ESCAPE. 


"I  coazed  him  into  it,  and  gave  him  his  copy;  but  he  behaved 
handsum,  and  insisted  on  payin'  for  it.  The  other  I  put  into  tho 
winder.  The  people  were  delighted  with  it,  and  I  multiplied  them, 
and  sold  five  hundred  at  a  groat  advance  on  tho  oommon  price -r— for 
the  last  was  in  course  always  the  only  one  left  on  hand  —  and  wher- 
ever I  went,  I  gave  one  to  the  priest  of  the  parish,  and  then  he  sot 
for  me,  and  I  sold  him  in  turn  by  the  dozens,  and  so  on  all  throiigh 
the  piece.  A  livin'  bishop  is  worth  a  hundred  dead  saints  any  time. 
There  is  a  way  of  doin'  everythin',  if  you  only  know  how  to  go 
about  it," 

"  Mr.  Phinny,"  said  Sorrow,  who  just  then  opened  the  cabin-door, 
"  Captin  sais  boat  is  ready,  Sar." 

"Slick,"  said  Phinny,  who  understood  the  hint,  "your  skipper  is 
not  an  overly  civil  man;  for  two  cents  I'd  chuck  him  into  the  boat, 
and  wallop  him  till  ho  rowed  me  ashore  himself.  I  hate  such  mealy- 
mouthed,  no-soul,  cantin'  fellers.  lie  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  Captin 
I  onct  sailed  with  from  Charleston  to  Cnba.  He  used  to  call  me  in 
to  prayers  every  night  at  nine  o'clock ;  and  when  that  was  over,  he'd 
say,  '  Como,  now,  Phinny,  let's  have  a  chat  about  the  galls,'  Broad- 
cloth chaps,  like  your  skipper,  aint  fit  for  the  fisheries,  that's  a  fact. 
He  is  out  of  place,  and  looks  ridiculous,  like  a  man  with  a  pair  of 
canvass  trowsers,  an  old  slouched  hat,  and  a  bran  new,  go-to-meetin' 
coat  on." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  abuse,  he  turned  to  and  put  on 
his  advertisiu'  dretfs,  as  he  called  it.  The  long  beard,  velvet-lined 
coat,  satin  waistcoat,  and  g(jld  chains,  wjre  all  in  their  old  places; 
and  takin'  his  carpet-bag  and  heavy  cane,  he  ascended  the  deck. 

"  Is  todcr  gentleman  goin',"  said  Sorrow,  "dat  was  in  t'e  cabin?" 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  him,"  said  Phinny,  winkiii'  to  me.  "  Call  him, 
that's  a  good  fellow." 

In  a  few  minutes,  the  poor  nigger  came  back,  dreadfully  fright- 
ened; his  wool  standin'  out  straight,  his  teeth  ehatterin',  and  his 
body  tremblin'  all  over.  "  He  no  dare,  Sar.  I  sarch  ebberywhere, 
and  no  see  him  ;  and  call  ebberywhere,  and  he  no  answer." 

"  lie  must  be  the  devil,  then,"  said  Phinny,  who  sprang  into  tho 
boat  and  pushed  off. 

Sorrow  followed  him  with  his  eyes  a  moment  or  two  in  silence, 
and  then  said,  "  By  Golly !  I  tink  you  is  de  debbil  yousef ;  for  I'll 
'ako  my  Bible  disposition,  I  sec  two  people  down  dare  in  de  cabin. 
()]>,  dear  !  how  stupid  dis  nigger  is  !  I  wish  I  had  de  sensibility  to 
look  at  his  foot.     Oh  !  he  is  de  debbil,  and  nuffin'  else." 


"  You  are  riiiht,  Sorrow,''  said  I.     "  He  is  a  devil  that. 


When 


Ii 


the  poor  nigger  was  prepariu'  the  cabin  for  supper,  he  went  on  talkin' 
aloud  to  himself. 

"  What  a  damnable  ting  rum  and  brand}'  must  be,  when  debbiln 
is  so  amasin'  fond  of  'em.      By  golly,  but  he  ah  cmpteed  both  hot 


A    NARROW    ESCAPE. 


283 


eliaved 

? 

ito  tho 

them, 

I: 

e-T— for 

X  wher- 

>" . , 

1  he  sot 

';■.)>' 

through 

f 

jy  time. 

1 

r  to  go 

lin-door, 

:ipper  is 
he  boat, 

I  mealy- 
\  Captin 

II  me  in 
k'cr,  he'd 

Broad- 
's a  fact. 
I  pair  of 
)-meetin' 

I  put  on 
vet-lined 

places ; 
cck. 
cnbin?" 

ill  hiui, 

fright- 
[aud  his 
pywhcre, 

linto  tho 

silence, 
for  I'll 
|e  cabin. 

)ility  to 

When 
talkin' 

IdcbbilH 
kh  hot 


m  • 


m 


ties.  Tie  so  used  to  fire,  he  no  mind  dat,  no  more  nor  a  bucket  do 
a  drop.  What  ridikilous  onhansom  disgustin'  tings  dem  long  beards 
be !  How  in  de  world  do  he  eat  his  soup  wid  dat  groat  long  mop 
hanLnn'  down  his  front,  do  way  bosses  hab  do  tails  on  behind.  Sar- 
tin  it  is  a  debblish  fashion  dat." 

"  That  fellow,"  said  the  Captain,  who  now  came  below,  "  may  bo 
called  a  regular  devil." 

"  Ki,"  said  Sorrow.  "  Now  I  is  certain  of  de  fac,  dis  hero  nigga, 
Massa,  made  de  self-same  argument  to  Massa  Slick.  But  de  oder 
debii  in  de  carpet-bag  was  de  wusser  of  de  two.  As  1  am  a  Chris- 
tian sinner,  I  heard  him  with  ray  own  blessed  ears  say,  '  Come  now, 
Funuy' — dat  is  de  name  he  gave  Massa  Slick — '  Come,  now,  Fun- 
ny,* said  he,  'let's  go  to  prayers  fust,  and  den  talk  ob  de  galls.' 
De  onsarcumsised,  ondegeuerute,  diabolical  willains.  I  is  grad  we 
is  quit  of  'em." 

"Supper,  Sorrow,"  said  the  Captain;  "and  when  that  is  ready, 
see  that  the  men  have  theirs.     We  arc  behind  tin)e  to-night." 

"  Sorrow,"  sais  I,  a-lookiu'  serious,  "  what's  that  behind  you  ?" 

"  Oh  !  Lord  ab  massy  on  dis  nigger,"  said  he,  jumpin'  up,  and 
showin'  two  white  rings  round  his  eyes  like  a  wall-eyed  boss.  "  What 
is  it,  Massa  ?     I  is  so  awful  frightened,  I  can't  look  !" 

"  It's  only  your  own  shadder,"  said  I.  "  Come,  move  quick  now. 
Didn't  you  hear  the  Captin  ?" 

"I  is  most  afeerd  to  go  forrard  to-night,  dat  are  a  fac,"  he  said; 
"  but  dere  is  de  mate  now ;  he  will  be  more  wusser  frightened  still 
dan  I  be." 

"  Tell  him  the  devil  is  goin'  to  sue  him,  Sorrow,"  sais  I. 

"  Yah  !  yah  !  yah  !"  was  the  reply  of  the  nigger.  "  I  go  tell  him 
de  debil  is  a  lawyer,  wid  his  constable  in  his  bag,  yah  !  yah  !  yah  !" 
and  the  laugh  composed  his  narves. 

In  the  morniu'  there  was  a  light  breeze  outside ;  but  we  were 
becalmed  by  the  high  lands  of  La  Halve,  and  waited  impatiently  for 
it  to  reach  us. 

"  Pilot,"  sais  I,  "  come  and  sit  down  here.  "  Was  you  ever  at 
Canscau,  where  the  great  sliore  mackerel-fishery  is  ?" 


"  Often  and  often, 


8ir,"  said  he. 


"  Oh  !  them's  the  Nova  Scotia 


gold-diggin's,  if  the  folks  only  knowd  it;  at  least,  that's  my  logic. 
I'll  tell  you  how  it  is.  Sir.  To  carry  on  the  fishery,  there  must  be 
a  smot)th  beach  to  draw  the  seine  on,  and  a  place  for  huts,  stores, 
fiovels,  and  shops  and  so  on.  The  fishery  is  nothin'  without  the 
landiu'-place,  and  the  shore  lots  of  no  value  without  the  fishery. 
The  great  thing  is  to  own  the  land ;  and  if  a  sensible  man  owned 
that,  it  would  be  a  fcrtin  to  him,  and  his  children  arter  him  in  all 
time  to  come.  I'll  give  you  an  idea  how  it's  worked,  and  of  the 
value  of  the  catch  and  the  soil  too,  for  the  man  that  has  the  estato 
may  be  said  to  own  the  fishery  too.     I  oidy  wish  I  was  able  for  it; 


.% 


i 


i . 


I 

I 

i 

r' 


■U 


284 


A    NAURU W    ESCAPE 


but  I  aint  ricli  enough  to  buy  Ciinse.au,  or  Fox  Island,  or  Crow  Hiir- 
DOur,  and  any  o'  thoiii  garrisaii  towns  or  dockyards  of  tlio  niaukonil. 

"  You  could  purchaso  any  or  all  of  thoui,  Mr.  Slick,  for  you  arc, 
well  to  do  in  the  world,  and  aro  an  oudcrstandin'  man,  and  coidd 
carry  on  the  business  in  spito  of  treaties,  nicn-of-war,  IJlue-nose  laws, 
and  all.  It  only  wants  a  little  sttidy.  Laws  aint  like  fine  bait-nets, 
BO  small  squids  can't  go  thro'  them,  but  they  are  open  enough  for 
bake  or  cod  ;  and  bigger  iish  break  "em  to  pieces,  and  laugh  at  'em — 
that's  my  logic.  Weil,  we'll  say  I  own  the  land  there;  and  it 
wouldn't  bo  the  fust  lie  that  has  been  told  about  mo,  if  folks  did  so. 
All  natur  lies  here.  The  fog  lies  along  the  coast  j  and  the  weather 
lies  so  you  can't  depend  on  it ;  the  tides  get  on  a  spree  sometimes, 
and  run  up  the  gut  of  Canseau  a  whole  week  on  a  stretch,  and  pre- 
tend to  go  up  and  down  twice  a-day;  the  newspapers  lie  so,  the  mo- 
ment you  see  a  thing  in  'em,  put  it  down  at  once  as  false;  the  men 
lie  a-bed,  and  vow  they  are  goin'  ahead;  the  women  take  a  great 
shindy  to  your  money,  lie  like  the  devil,  and  say  it's  you  and 
uofe  your  pocket  they  are  in  love  with.  Everythin'  lies  but  rates, 
and  they  come  round  when  they  promise  ;  but  they  aint  above  takiii' 
an  oath  either  that  you  are  twice  as  well  off  as  you  be,  if  you  don't 
liappen  to  be  on  their  side ;  that's  my  logic  at  any  rate.  Well,  we'll 
say  I  own  it.  Confound  the  thing;  I  can't  get  beyond  that.  It's 
like  Ezra  Foreman's  eyes. 

^'The  doctor  ordered  him  to  bathe  them  in  brandy  and  water,  but 
he  never  could  get  it  higher  than  his  mouth;  he  was  sure  to  spill  it 
down  there.  Well  we'll  say  I  own  it,  and  that  I  follercd  their 
wretched  systum  down  there.  If  so  Ide  build  a  lot  of  poor  log-huts 
twenty  feet  square,  and  let  them  to  a  crew  of  six  men  each — only 
bee  what  a  rent  of  fish  that  is  ?  and  a  few  long  sheds  of  stores,  and 
let  them  enormous  high.  Well  fishin'-season  comes,  and  black, 
white,  and  grey  flock  down  to  my  land — which  is  filled  like  a  hive 
— all  makin'  honey  for  me.  Well  then  comes  a  man  with  eight 
hands,  and  a  large  boat  with  a  seine  in  it.  When  they  see  the  fish 
strikin'  in  along  shore,  they  pay  out  one  hundred  and  fifty,  or  two 
hundred  fathom  of  seine  from  the  boat,  bavin'  furst  made  one  cend 
of  the  net  fast  ashore.  Well  eight  men  can't  haul  such  a  seine  as 
that,  so  he  goes  to  the  shore,  and  sais :  '  Come,  and  haul  the  net  in, 
and  then  dip  away,  like  good  fellows,  and  you  shall  have  half  of  all 
your  dip.'  All  that  pays  heavy  toll  to  me.  I  actilly  saw  thirteen 
hundred  barrels  took  at  one  haul;  at  eight  dollars  each,  that  is 
worth  two  thousand  six  hundred  pounds.  Sposin'  now,  Mr.  Slick, 
you  and  I  owned  the  place,  and  conducted  it  proper,  wouldn't  wo 
beat  Australia  and  California  all  to  rags. 

"  Sposin'  we  had  our  own  people  there,  instead  of  tag-rag  and  bob- 
tail, owned  the  seines,  nets,  and  dip-scoops,  salt,  barrels,  and  all 
that,  where  would  we  be  ?     As  it  is,  what  is  it '(     Nothin'  but  con- 


r 


A     N  A  R  n  '^>  W     K  S  r  A  P  E . 


285 


ow  Ilur- 

you  uiv- 
1(1  could 
f)se  laws, 
Juit-nets, 
ough  for 
at  'ciu — 
;  and  it 
:s  did  so. 
i  weather 
metioies, 
and  pre- 
,  the  nio- 

the  men 
1  a  groat 
you  and 
)ut  rates, 
)Vc  takiri' 
pu  don't 
ell,  we'll 
lat.     It's 

ater,  but 

spill  it 

red  their 

og-huts 

1 — only 

arcs,  and 

black, 

a  hive 

th  eight 

the  lish 

or  two 

)no  cend 

seine  as 

c  net  in, 

llf  of  all 

thirteen 

that   is 

r.  Slick, 

da't  we 

>U(I  bob- 
and  all 
but  con- 


fusion, ooise  and  scrainb.o.  Cet  a  deputation  to  sarvo  a  writ  there, 
and  you'll  soon  find  out  what  it  is.  What  they  call  to  England  free- 
trade  and  no  protection,  but  main  .strength.  If  you  and  I  owned  it, 
it  wouldn't  do  to  be  too  strict  either.  Ktrictness  is  a  game  two  can 
play  at.  (julls  and  galls  don't  go  near  them,  there  are  too  many 
guns  and  men  r)r  'em  together,  tho'  both  on  'cm  iiave  watery 
mouths  when  the  season  comes.  I  knew  a  feller  there  onct,  who 
lived  about  the  handit>st  to  the  fisheries,  that  lost  his  wife.  Well, 
ho  went  to  the  next  house,  and  borrowed  a  sheet  to  lay  her  out  with, 
and  bein'  short  o'  these  things,  he  buried  her  in  it.  Well,  what 
does  the  old  woman  he  got  it  of  do,  })ut  ask  him  for  the  sheet,  if 
she  had  done  with  it,  and  bothered  him  so  every  time  she  saw  him, 
ho  said  he  would  pay  her,  or  give  her  one  every  bit  as  gf)od.  Ho 
was  so  mad  at  last,  he  w(!nt  and  dug  his  wife  up,  took  her  in  hi3 
arms,  walked  into  tho  house  one  night,  and  lay'd  her  on  the  table. 

"  Says  he,  good  woman,  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  the  loan  of  tho 
sheet,  there  it  is.  When  you  have  taken  it  off,  put  my  old  lady 
back  agin  into  the  grave,  will  you,"  and  he  left  her  there. 

If  there  warnt  a  hullaballo  there  then,  thrre  aint  no  eels  in 
Tusket.  That  comes  o'  bein'  too  strict.  Give  and  take,  live  and 
let  live,  that's  the  word.  You  can't  do  without  me,  for  you  hanto 
got  no  pilot,  and  I  can't  do  without  you,  for  I  want  your  cash,  and 
flour,  and  poi     " 

*'  Exactly,"  eaid  I,  "  Eldad.  If  there  is  no  liook  the  chain  is  no 
good  ;  hut  the  chain  is  a/wat/s  i/rumhlln'  agin  the  h(X)h^  though  alt 
the  strain  is  on  it.     Every  critter  has  his  place  and  his  purpose." 

"  If  that's  the  case,"  said  he  I  should  like  to  know  what  place 
and  use  Jawin'  J^hinny's  is  V 

"  You  oughtn't  to  ask  that,"  sais  I,  "for  you  arc  a  li.^berraan, 
and  ought  to  know  better.  What  use  is  the  shark,  the  thrasher, 
and  sea-monsters?  There  must  be  human  sharks,  thrashers,  ana 
land-monsters  too.  If  a  feller  cm't  be  coaxed  to  go  strait  ahead,  ho 
may  bo  frightened  into  it.  That  villain  would  scare  you  nto  mindin 
your  p's  and  q's,  I  know.  Wo  don'*  under'^^and  tho.se  thiiigs.  Thera 
are  Jinger-posts  to  shoio  you  the  road,  andgihhcts  to  warn  you  off  th>; 
common,  when  you  leave  the  turnpike.  Storms  make  oaks  takh 
deeper  root.  Vice  makes  vartiie  look  urll  to  its  anchors.  It's  only 
allurin'  sin  that's  davgerous.*  Scripfnr'  don't  warn  us  agirv 
wolves,  except  when  t'l''//  have  sheep' s-c/oth in'  on.  But  I  aint  i, 
preacher,  and  one  mr<"i  d 'n't  make  a  congregation,  any  more  than 
one  link  makes  a  cha  v.  Well,  then  the  seine,  and  in  shore  fisa- 
eries,"  sais  I,  "is  worth  ten  times  as^much  ar.  whal;  we  Hiake  ten 
times  more  out  of!" 


•  Horace  was  ol'  tha  same  opinion : 

*'  Dccipit  exemplar,  vitiis  imitabile.' 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14  UO 

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286 


A     NARROW    ESCAPE, 


1) 


"  Why,  to  be  sure  it  is ;  but  you  are  a  riggin'  of  me  now,  Mr 
Slick." 

"  It  would  take  a  clever  feller  to  rig  you.  Eldad,"  sais  I.  "  You 
are  an  understandin'  man,  and  talk  sense.  I  have  been  talkin'  to 
you  man-fashion,  strait  up  and  down,  because  I  take  you  to  be  a 
ni;m,  that  when  you  speak  about  the  fisheries,  knows  what  you  are  a 
talkin'  about." 

"  Well,  said  he,  "  I  do,  that's  a  fact.  I  warnt  born  yesterday," 
and  he  looked  good  all  over. 

"  Squire,  you  laugh  at  me  about  this.  Now,  just  look  here.  See 
how  the  critter  swallowed  that.  It  was  a  piece  of  truth — the  rael 
thing,  and  no  soft  sawder,  but  he  liked  it,  jumped  at  it,  and  swa^ 
lowed  it.  I  say  again  it  was  a  fact;  the  man  did  know  what  he  vfna 
a  talkin'  about;  but  there  was  a  hook  in  it  for  all  that,  and  I  had 
him  in  hand  like  ^trout.  Tell  you  what,  fishers  of  men,  and  that's 
a  high  vocation — such  as  parsons,  lawyers,  doctors,  politicians,  presi- 
dents, kings,  and  so  on  (I  say  nothin'  about  women,  'cause  they 
beat  'em  all) ;  but  all  these  fishers  of  men  ought  to  know  the  right 
bait  to  use.  What  the  plague  docs  Lord  John  Eussell  know  about 
reform  in  colleges,  llicre  should  he  a  'professor  of  bait  in  every  loU 
lege.  It's  a  science.  His  Lordship  has  one  or  two  baits,  as  our 
coasters  have  of  smelts  and  clams.  He  has  free  trade,  extension  of 
franchise,  and  admission  of  Jews  in  Parliament,  and  has  used  'em 
till  people  wont  bite  no  longer.  He  is  obliged  to  jig  them  as  our 
folks  do  macarel,  wnen  they  wont  rise  to  the  line.  Ashley  has  the 
low  church,  and  factory  children  bait.  Morpeth  has  baths  for  wash- 
ing coal-heavers'  faces.     Both  these  men  have  changed  their  names 

.  -IT  .  . 

since  I  was  to  England,  and  hang  me  if  I  know  their  new  ones.  Tlie 
English  nobility  have  as  many  alias's  as  an  Old  Bailey  convict. 
O'Connell  had  the  Irish  bait.  Hume,  the  economy;  and  Cobden 
the  Peace  Society  bait.  But  the  grand  mistake  they  all  make  is 
this — each  feller  sticks  to  his  own,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  and 
expects  all  sorts  and  sizes  to  take  it.  He  ought  to  know  every 
variety  of  them,  and  select  thsm  for  the  occasion,  as  a  fisherman  does 
his  fiies  and  his  worms.  The  devil  is  the  only  man  of  cdication, 
and  the  only  accomplished  gentletnan  in  this  line,  and  he  applies  it 
all  to  bad  purposes.  That  feller  can  tempt  all  created  critturs  to 
evil.  Why  shouldn't  we  tempt  'em  to  good  ?  You  say  this  ia 
trick  ;  I  say  it's  knowledge.  You  say  it's  cunnin' ;  I  say  it's  con- 
sun)mate  skill.  You  say  it's  artifice ;  I  say  it's  high  art,  How  is 
it  that  a  super-superior  cook  has  more  pay  than  a  captain  "n  the 
navy,  or  a  major  in  the  army?  Simply  because  he  is  master  of  bait, 
and  can  tempt  all  the  oddest  and  rarest  fish  to  your  net.  He  can 
tickle  the  palate  of  all  ranks,  from  a  nabob,  with  his  lack  of  rupees, 
down  to  a  chap  like  poor  Hook,  who  had  a  lack  of  everythiu'  but 
wit.     It  aint  the  duke  who  commands  good  company  to  his  table, 


A    NARROW    ESCAPE. 


287 


for  T  know  one  that  can't  tell  sherry  from  madeira,  but  it's  his  bait- 
master-general,  his  cook.  Ah  !  Prince  Albert,  if  you  want  to  immor- 
talize yourself,  found  a  bait  professorship  at  Cambridge ;  and  if  you 
doubt  me,  ask  Cardinal  Wiseman,  if  I  don't  know  what  I  am  talk- 
ing about  J  for  he  is  a  sensible  man,  and  up  to  snuiF;  and  the  way 
he  hooked  Newman  and  a  lot  of  other  chaps,  whose  mouths  were 
bigger  than  their  eyes,  is  a  caution  to  sinners.  But  I  must  get  back 
to  Eldad  and  the  fisheries. 

"Eldad,"  sais  I,  "what  is  the  difference  between  a  Sable  Island 
bloater  and  other  macarel  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  said  he,  "  providin'  you  promise  me,  if  you  write 
a  book  of  your  travels,  you  will  set  it  down." 

"  Certainly,"  sais  I. 

"  Then  you  promise  me  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  do,"  sais  I.  "  What  I  say  I  mean,  and  what  I 
mean  I  do.     That's  my  rule." 

"  Well  then,"  said  he,  "  I  will  tell  you  how  they  are  so  much 
-igger  and  fatter.  They  feed  on  the  unburied  dead  there.  Every 
Itorm  washes  up  drowned  bodies,  and  they  float,  for  they  are  as  soft 
as  jelly,  and  full  of  air,  and  the  macarel  eat  them,  and  grow,  and 
thrive,  as  doctors  and  lawyers  do,  who  are  fond  of  the  same  food. 
All  these  feed  on  the  dead,  and  are  fat  and  onwholesome." 

"I  never  knew  anythin'  so  shockin',"  I  said;  "I  shall  never 
touch,  or  even  look  at  a  Sable  Island  bloater  agin  without  disgust," 

"I  hope  not,"  said  he,  risin'  with  much  excitement,  "nor  any 
other  human  bcin'.  I  hope  that  article  is  done  for,  and  out  of 
market.  The  truth  is,  its  a  long  lane  that  has  no  tiirn  in  it.  The 
lAst  load  i  brought  from  there,  I  got  so  chiseled  in  the  sale  of  it  by 
that  outfittin'  firm  of  '  Salt  and  Sienes,'  that  1  vowed  vengeance  agin 
'em,  and  the  time  has  now  come  for  satisfaction.  When  you  print 
that  story,  see  whether  they  will  be  able  to  sell  bloaters  to  Boston 
any  more.  Honesty  is  the  best  policy ;  they  won't  gain  much  by 
bavin'  cheated  me.  But,  here  is  the  breeze;  wo  must  weigh 
anchor,"  and  in  a  few  minutes,  we  were  slowly  sailin'  out  of  the 
harbour.  We  had  hardly  cleared  the  river,  when  it  failed  us  again, 
find  the  vessel  lay  motionless  on  the  water.  "  Here  is  a  shoal  of 
macarel,"  said  he;  "would  you  like  to  see  how  we  manage?" 

"Well,  I  would,"  said  I,  "that's  a  fact;"  but  the  Captin  objected 
stoutly. 

"  We  are  within  the  treaty  limits,"  said  he.  "  That  is  a  solemn 
compact  atween  our  governments,  and  we  ought  to  abide  by  our 
engagements." 

"Sho!"  sais  I;  "who  cares  for  dead-letter  treaties!  Fish  was 
made  for  food,  and  if  the  folks  hero  won't  take  'em,  why  I  see  no- 
thin'  to  prevent  us.  It  ain't  their  property;  it's  common  stock  for 
all  the  world,  and  first  come  first  served  is  the  rule." 


288 


A    NARROW    ESCAPE. 


"It's  law,"  said  he,  "and  that's  enough  for  me." 

I  didn't  tell  him  he  had  been  violatin'  law  all  along  the  coast,  by 
sellin'  things  without  enterin'  of  them  at  the  Custom  House  and 
payin'  the  duties,  for  he  warn't  used  to  it,  and  didn't  think  of  it. 

"  Cutler,"  sais  I,  "  our  ambassador  used  to  say  there  was  two  sorts 
of  wrong — moral  wrong,  and  legal  wrong ;  that  the  first  couldn't  be 
done  on  no  account,  but  legal  wrong  could,  because  it  was  move 
statute  regulation  j  only  if  you  are  catched,  you  must  pay  the 
penalty," 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "that  is  just  on  a  par  with  political  honesty.  1 
can  have  no  hand  in  it.  I  am  little  more  than  a  passenger  hero, 
engaged  by  3'ou.  The  responsibility  rests  with  you.  If  you  think 
proper  to  fish,  do  so,  but  excuse  me."     And  he  went  below. 

"  Well,  well,"  sais,  I,  "  I'll  save  you  harmless,  let  what  will 
happen." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  boat  was  got  ready,  the  lines  fastened  to  the 
taffrail,  salt  and  cut  food  thrown  over  to  make  the  fish  rise  well  to 
the  surface,  and  we  went  at  it  in  airnest.  It's  amazin'  how  qiick 
they  was  taken.  Spiittin'  and  saltin'  is  done  in  no  time.  The 
splitter  is  provided  with  a  blunt-pointed  knife,  like  a  shoemaker  3  in 
ehape,  and  gauged  with  a  leather  thong,  so  as  to  leave  about  Iwf 
inches  of  the  blade  exposed.  With  this,  he  splits  the  fish  down  tb 
back,  from  the  nose  to  the  root  of  the  tail,  and  actilly  spliti  a  1  ai 
dred  in  three  minutes,  or  as  fast  as  two  men  can  hand  them  to  him. 
If  he  is  a  smart  hand,  as  the  mate  was,  he  keeps  three  gibbers 
a-goin'  as  fast  as  they  can  for  their  life. 

The  gibber  covers  his  left  hand  with  a  mitten,  to  enable  him  to 
have  a  good  grip,  and  to  protect  him  agin  the  bones  of  the  fish,  and 
with  the  forefinger  and  thumb  of  the  right  hand  (.xtractf^  the  gills 
and  garbage.  The  mackarel  is  then  thrown  into  a  tub  and  washed, 
and  arter  that,  salted  at  the  rate  of  a  bushel  of  salt  to  a  cask.  I 
had  heard  the  process  so  often  described,  I  knew  it  well  enough,  but 
I  never  saw  it  before ;  and  I  must  say,  I  was  astonished  at  the 
rapidity  with  which  it  was  done. 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "  P^ldad,  that's  quick  work  we  are  makin'  of  it 
here,  aint  it?     It's  quite  excitin'  when  you  see  it  for  the  fust  time." 

He  was  then  stretched  out  at  full  length  on  the  stern,  and  was 
nearly  all  covered  over  with  a  watch-cloak ;  but  he  rose  deliberately, 
and  put  away  his  spy-glass  on  the  binnacle.  "  Yes,"  said  he,  "and 
we  are  goin'  to  have  quick  work  made  with  us  too;  and  I  gue.ss  you 
will  find  that  very  excitin'  when  you  are  nabbed  for  the  first  time." 

"How  is  thatr'  sais  I. 

"  W^ell,"  said  he,  "sit  down  here.  Sir,  with  your  back  to  the 
men,  so  as  not  to  draw  attention.  Do  you  see  that  are  square-rigged 
vessel  that's  a  fetchin'  of  the  breeze  down  with  her,  while  we  lay 
here  like  a  log .'     She  is  a  British  man  of-war :  I  know  her  well ; 


A    NARROW    ESCAPE, 


280 


Bhe  is  the  '  Spitfire/  Captain  Stoker.  I  was  the  pilot  on  board  of 
her  last  summer  in  the  Bay  of  Fundy,  and  he  hates  the  Yankees 
like  pyson.  He'll  be  down  on  us  afore  we  know  where  we  be,  and 
snap  us  up  as  a  duck  does  a  June-bug." 

"  Can't  we  dodge  among  the  islands  ?"  said  I. 

'*  His  boat  will  cut  us  off." 

**Go  into  shoal  water  up  the  river?" 

"  Wus  and  wus !  that  way  he  is  sure  to  nab  us." 

"Well,  can't  we  show  him  our  heels?" 

"  With  this  breeze  that  is  a  comin*,  he  has  the  heels  of  us." 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "  Pilot,  this  is  a  bad  box,  and  no  mistake ;  but  1 
have  got  out  of  many  a  wus  fix  afore  now,  by  keepin'  a  cool  head 
and  a  steady  hand.  Face  him  j  don't  let  him  run  arter  us.  Let  us 
give  him  chase. 

"I'll  bother  him,  see  if  I  don't.  He  won't  know  what  to  make 
of  that  bold  move.  It  will  take  him  all  aback,  wus  than  a  shift  of 
wind." 

"  I'll  tell  you  now,  though  I  never  mentioned  it  afore,  and  don't 
want  it  spoke  of  to  anybody.  I  am'  an  oflficer  of  high  rank  in  our 
Government,  and  have  my  commission  with  me.  Let  him  touch  us 
if  he  dare.  Put  her  about ;  the  breeze  is  here  now,  and  boat  up  to 
him."  The  order  was  executed  in  a  moment.  "  Mate,"  sais  I,  "do 
you  see  that  are  vessel  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sir." 

"  VVell,  she  is  a  man-of-war.  There  is  a  warrant  out  arter  us. 
Clear  up  the  deck  and  swab  it  as  dry  as  a  bone." 

"  We  shall  be  sued,"  said  he,  "  had  up  in  the  Admiralty,  and 
smashed  in  costs.  I  know'd  that  would  be  the  eend  of  it,  all 
along." 

"Go  forward,  you  coward,"  said  I,  "immediately,  and  do  your 
work,  or  I'll  appoint  another  officer  in  your  place.  This  is  no  time 
for  drivellin',  you  blockhead.  Send  the  second  mate  here.  Mr. 
Bent,"  said  I,  "where  can  we  hide  these  wet  lines?" 

"  I  can  stow  them  away,"  said  he,  "  in  the  studdin'-sail." 

"  Exactly,"  sais  I.  "  Do  it  at  once.  Get  the  fish-barrels  headed 
in  and  loaded  with  ballast-stones,  ready  for  sinkin',  and  make  all 
clean  and  snug." 

"  Aye,  aye,  Sir." 

"  Eldad,  beat  the  schooner  so  as  to  lose  all  you  get  amost.  All 
we  want  is  to  gain  time." 

I  then  went  below,  and  explained  all  to  the  Captin.  He  began 
immediately  to  protest  against  resistance,  as  we  were  unlawfully  em- 
ployed;  when  I  said,  "Cutler,  Iwill  take  all  responsibility;  I  must 
assume  command  here  for  a  little  while;"  and  I  went  to  the  desk, 
took  out  the  case  contaiuin'  my  commission,  letters,  &c.,  and  said, 
"Read  them  over.  Now,  Eldud,"  sais  I,  as  I  returned,  dressed  up 
25 


290 


A    NARROW    ESCAPE. 


in  mj  embassy  official  coat,  "explain  to  me  the  navigation.  Is  that 
all  open,  bold,  plain-sailin'  between  that  island  and  the  main  ?  " 

"  No,  Sir,  there  is  a  long,  shoal  sand-bar,  stretchin'  oif  to  the  nor'- 
west,  I  guess  it  was  ouct  high  land.  The  channel  is  between  that 
and  the  shore." 

"  Jist  so.     IIow  is  it  about  the  isliinds  ?  " 

"  Deep  enough  for  a  seventy-four." 

"  Exactly,"  sais  I.  "  I  have  two  courses  before  me :  to  entice 
him  on  to  that  bar  and  then  slip  thro'  the  islands,  and  dodge  him 
and  his  guns,  or  to  hail  him,  and  go  on  board  boldly.  But  I  prefer 
the  first,  for  there  is  more  fun  in  it.  Don't  go  one  inch  beyond  the 
bar,  but  beat  between  that  and  the  island,  it  will  make  him  think 
the  channel  is  there;  and  if  his  pilot  is  a  Bay-o^-Fundy  man,  I 
know  they  aint  much  acquainted  with  this  part  of  the  South  coast. 
Is  all  right,  Mr.  Bent  ?  " 

"  All  right.  Sir  " 

"  See  the  decks  are  covered  over  with  some  of  the  house-sand  wo 
took  in  at  Petite  Riviere ;  it  will  absorb  any  moisture  left  by  the 
swabs;  and  when  I  pass  the  word,  let  it  be  swept  off.  Mate,  hoist 
the  pennant,  and  place  the  flag  where  a  commodore's  ought  to  be." 

"  He  is  nearing  us  fast,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  the  pilot. 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  time  she  sheered  off  to  the  left,  aint  it  ?  "  sais  I 

"  Well,  it  is,"  said  he.  "  'Bout  ship,  there.  Hold  up  well  for 
the  passage  between  the  islands,  there,  now." 

"  Pilot,"  sais  I,  "  if  he  clears  the  bar,  lay  the  '  Black  Hawk'  to, 
and  I'll  board  him,  show  him  my  commission,  and  advise  him  to  be 
cautious  how  he  interferes  with  our  fishin'  crafts,  unless  he  wants  to 
bring  on  a  war;  talk  big  in  a  soft  way,  and  all  that.  If  I  don't 
conflustrigate  him,  it's  a  pity,  that's  all.  Mr.  Bent,  get  the  gig 
ready;  see  the  davits  are  all  clear;  and  do  you  and  four  picked 
hands  stand  by  to  jump  in  at  onct.  We  must  lead  off  fust  in  this 
game,  if  we  want  to  win.     Move  quick." 

"  Aye,  aye,  Sir." 

"  Eldad !  Yellow  Jack  is  a  trump  card ;  aint  he  ?  " 

"  Guess  he  is,"  said  he.  "  ]}ut  your  father  spoiled  a  good  Captin 
in  the  navy,  to  make  a  wooden  clockmaker  of  you,  that's  a  fact." 

•'  This  is  an  awkward  scrape,  and  there  is  no  two  ways  about  it. 
But  what  in  the  world  does  the  B'-itisher  mean  ?  Aint  he  got  a 
chart  on  board  ?  He'll  be  ashore  in  a  minit  as  sure  as  fate.  There 
he  is!  I  thought  so,  hard  and  fast;  it's  a  wonder  his  masts  didn't 
go.  Ease  off  the  mainsail  a  bit — there  she  goes  1  Now's  our  time, 
in  the  confusion,  for  a  run.  Lay  down  flat,  men,  in  case  he  fires. 
We  are  all  safe  now,  I  believe  " 

Just  as  I  spoke  the  words,  bang  went  a  gun,  and  a  shot  skipped 
by  our  stern  so  close  as  to  throw  the  spray  on  us. 

"A  miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile,"  said  Eldad. 


i. 


A    NARROW    ESCAPE. 


291 


don't 


this 


There 


f  "  Crowd  on  all  sail  now,  my  men,  out  with  the  studdin*  sails  — 

I  be  quick  there ;  steer  straight  for  that  headland,  and  that  will  keep 

t'le  island  between  us  and  the  Spitfire.  Cutler,"  said  I,  and  he  was 
on  deck  in  a  minii,  "  we  are  safe  now,  and  I  surrender  my  command 
to  you." 

"  Where  is  the  man-of-war  ?  "  said  he,  lookln'  round. 
"On  the  sand  bar,  on  the  other  side  of  the  island,"  I  replied. 
"  I  guess  they  are  goin'  to  grave  her,  or  perhaps  survey  the  channel, 
for  their  chart  don't  seem  no  good,"  and  I  gave  him  a  wink,  but  ho 
didn't  smile. 

"  Mr.  Slick,"  said  he,  *'  that  commission  puts  it  out  of  your  power 
to  act  the  boy,  and  play  tricks  that  way.  You  are  the  last  man  that 
ought  to  compromise  the  government." 

"  Cutler,"  sais  I,  "  you  are  as  correct  as  a  boot-jack,  and  I  respect 
your  scruples.  I  admit  it  was  a  thoughtless  frolic,  and  it  shan't 
happen  again." 

"That's  right,"  said  he,  "I  knew  you  were  only  doin'  of  it  out 
of  fun,  but  there  are  times  when  we  must  not  commit  ourselves 
If  any  cruiser  interferes  with  us  in  our  lawful  pursuits,  I  will  resist 
to  the  death,  but  I  never  will  draw  blood  in  dcfendin'  a  wrong  act." 
Cutler  was  right;  if  loe  begin  to  do  lorong  in  fun,  we  arc  apt  to 
ccnd  hy  doin!  wrong  in  airnid. 

"  Well,  Eldad,"  said  I,  "  what  do  yor,  think  of  that  dodge,  eh  ? 
I  am  afeard,"  said  I,  winkin'  to  him,  for  the  mate  was  within  hear- 
in',  "  I  am  afeard  we  shall  all  be  took  up,  tried  in  court,  and  ruin- 
ated in  damages,  for  dccoyin'  that  vessel  ashore." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Slick!"  he  replied,  "let  me  be,"  and  he  hung  his 
head  and  walked  forard.  "Well,  Mr.  Slick,"  said  Eldad,  "you 
are  the  man  for  my  money,  artor  all.  You  talk  the  most  sense  and 
the  most  nonsense  of  any  person  I  ever  see.  Y.u  play  with  the 
galls,  take  rises  out  of  the  men,  tell  stories  by  the  hour,  and  seem 
made  on  purpose  for  rollickin.  On  the  other  hand,  no  danger  scares 
you,  and  no  difficulty  stops  you.  No  other  man  would  have  got  out 
of  that  are  scrape  but  yourself.  Not  content  with  that,  you  have 
turned  the  tables  on  Captain  Stoker,  and  put  him  into  a  most  a 
beautiful  of  a  frizzle  of  a  fix." 

"  Well,"  sais  I,  "  don't  s#y  no  more  for  goodness  gracious  sake, 
for  I  have  a  friend  who,  when  he  reads  it,  will  say  it's  all  my  vanity. 
Come,  let's  go  below  and  liquor ;  but  I  must  say  myself,  Eldad,  thaf 
was  a  reel  ^narroio  escape.'  " 


THE    END. 


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